


Quantum Entanglement

by TheNorthRemembers



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 1988bookfest, Alternate Universe - Still Hockey Players, Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, Angst, Established Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-01-16 12:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 155,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12342591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNorthRemembers/pseuds/TheNorthRemembers
Summary: “Hi.”Jonny’s head snaps up and if it was anyone else Jonny would wonder how he has missed the door creaking open, but it’s Patrick, it’s Patrick, standing right there in the doorway a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, grinning at Jonny and there is no space for anything else left in Jonny’s brain.It’s Patrick. Impossibly young, hair short in a way Jonny has only seen him wear a handful of times, but it’s still long enough so the ends curl a bit and that, that is familiar, Jonny loves that hair, those blonde curls, has run his hands through them, through dumb mullet cuts, and combed back hair, receding hair line, sometimes thinner, sometimes thicker, he knows it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that I chose not to use archive warnings, which means that some fo them may still apply. So if you are for whatever reason careful about certain things, please feel free to message me and ask if thing XXX happens in my story.  
> my tumblr: http://catofthecanals289.tumblr.com/
> 
> Warnings: If you do not want to ask me personally, check out the spoiler containing warnings in the end notes:
> 
> Just a fair warning: this is going to be long. Really long. I don't mean 30k long, I mean long. I've got a lot for this written. 
> 
> For those of you who don't know the book the time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, let me explain:  
> One character is a time traveler, but he cannot control where or when he travels. It just happens. It seems very random, except htat from a certain point on he travels a lot to another character. And thus they fall in love. In the book that's pretty much it about them getting together. Girl meets boy and tells him she's in love with future him and future hims are in love with her, which is all it takes for present him and her to decide that yup, they are in love now too. Which I found unrealistic. Hence, why I wrote this.
> 
> You do NOT have to have read the book to enjoy this :)

**_ Jonny _ **

There are two parts that come with missing someone. One is waiting and the other is loneliness. You know there is supposed to be something, someone who you want to be there, but isn’t. You wish and long and wait. You wait and while you wait, in the absence of what you are waiting for, you are lonely. You are lonely because the present hasn’t caught up with your mind and heart yet. You are lonely because what you want, what you long for is somewhere in the future, while you are not. You are stuck waiting for _then_ to turn into _now._

Jonny barely remembers a time before being lonely. Before waiting. Before Patrick. It’s as much part of him as hockey, as his ambitions, his wilfulness, his determination, his everything. Being lonely, it’s just more private. It’s a secret. An enigma. It’s always been like this, ever since Jonny has been a kid. Nobody knows about Patrick, about Jonny waiting, waiting for _him._ Not even Patrick.

Sometimes Jonny wonders if he’d still miss Patrick if he didn’t know he was there, if he didn’t know that somewhere along the line, at some point in space and time, he would meet Patrick, the real, present Patrick. The Patrick that would stay, be anchored in this time, with Jonny. Where he leaves but always comes back. Back to Jonny, not sporadic appearances as his visits are now, but as coming home, again and again returning where he belongs.

Some days Jonny thinks he would. He would miss Patrick. Or, maybe not Patrick, but something, someone. It seems unimaginable to not miss him, so a stubborn part of Jonny’s heart, the one that’s always been louder than the rational side of his mind, declares it impossible. Jonny would _know_. He

would know there was something missing, he would know he is waiting, like a code engraved into his very soul.

Because Jonny is good at waiting. He waits for winter all summer, waits for the lakes to freeze and the ice to return, waits to be able to put on his skates and play hockey where it belongs and not just on the street. He waits to be old enough for his mom to sign him up for real hockey, organized hockey, with a team. He waits for his turn with the crayons at preschool and he waits for his father to finally have time to teach him how to tie his skates himself. And later when he’s older, he waits for school to be over, waits for winter break, waits for his alarm to ring so he can get some practice done before practice, waits for his family to get how important hockey is to him, waits for his mom to stop being mad that he quits swimming and karate, all for hockey, waits for David to understand that Jonny is not mocking him by being better, but just _is_ better. He waits till he’s old enough so his mom can send him off to boarding school and he can finally play more and more and more. And then he waits for the draft, waits for his name to be called.

So Jonny waits. He waits and he misses. He wants. He’s good at it. He’s good at getting what he wants too, at being persistent and stubborn and dedicated. Him being good at waiting doesn’t mean he just waits around for things to happen. Jonny _makes_ things happen. But some things are just beyond his control. Like Patrick.

More than anything, every day, every minute, Jonny waits for Patrick and there is nothing he can do about it. And he misses Patrick. He doesn’t remember a time when those feelings weren’t part of him. It’s like there is a second heartbeat in his chest, just a little off rhythm, an ache, waiting to be knocked in right but never quite getting there. In that sense, Patrick is always with him. It’s just not in the way Jonny wants him to, the way he is waiting for, what he’s missing.

Every day, every minute.

The thing is, Patrick, the Patrick who exists somewhere in Jonny’s time, he doesn’t miss Jonny back. He doesn’t wait. He just _is_. Is without Jonny. Because he doesn’t know Jonny exists, he doesn’t know that there is someone waiting for him, that he’s supposed to look forward to something. Patrick isn’t waiting or missing, but that doesn’t mean he might not be just as lonely.

It’s a dark path, a direction Jonny rarely lets his mind travel to, because the thought of Patrick being all alone with this makes the ache in Jonny’s chest a little worse. So in those moments, when all he can think about is Patrick growing up not knowing what Jonny knows, not knowing that it's going to get better, that he may be lonely now, but won’t be forever, that Jonny allows himself to imagine. He imagines that Patrick knows too. If Jonny would know that he was missing something without Patrick in his life, then maybe Patrick does too. Maybe his heart beats a little offbeat too. And maybe he doesn’t know what he’s missing, failing to piece things together without having all the clues, but maybe in some cosmically, metaphorical sense of things he still does miss Jonny.

Jonny likes to believe that, not just for selfless reasons, but because missing without being missed back, it makes the loneliness so much worse. And while Jonny believes himself to be good at waiting, he isn’t good at being lonely.

And loving Patrick is lonely. Because Patrick always leaves, unable to stay. And Jonny is always left behind, left waiting, unable to follow.

 

***

 

**_ Patrick _ **

When his sister Erica asks him one day, eyes big and curious on her kid face, how it feels, Patrick doesn’t have an answer. He has a dozen. Too many, too different to tell them all. It’s too difficult, he can’t put into words, this thing that’s been happening to him since he’s been five years old, because to explain it he would have to understand it and he doesn’t. Not really. Even after all these years Patrick has yet to find a way for his mind to truly comprehend the fact that while everyone is rooted in their time, their present, Patrick is not. He’s a traveller, a traveller without a map or a compass, without a plan or the desire to leave. He has no choice and maybe that is the worst of it all.

He wants to say it feels like walking down the stairs and missing a step.

He wants to say it feels like lying in your bed, in the shadow between day and night, caught between sleeping and waking, like the spiralling falling sensation as your heart skips a beat, and you startle awake only you are not in your bed anymore. You aren’t falling or sleeping, there is no void, except for the space you left behind, because you find yourself in an ally, alone in the dark, naked and cold, not knowing when or where you are and it feels like you never stopped falling after all.

He wants to say it’s like sitting in a car, your eyes tracking the landscape flying by, taking in the world that surrounds you without really seeing it. Your gaze wanders, but when you tilt your head just a little bit to catch another glimpse of the road sign you just passed, it’s no longer there and when you blink what you see is a house you haven’t lived in for years and haven’t lived in yet. Claws of longing and loss boring into your heart as you stand there in the first rays of dawn knowing you’ll have to start running any second now, as soon as someone realizes you are here. Not belonging. Wrong. An intruder. Misplaced. Mislocated.

You almost always end up running.

He wants to say it’s like a punch in the gut that has you falling to your knees, desperately gasping for air that just isn’t there, because neither are you, and the next breath you take fills your lungs with the freezing water of a lake you’ll spend years returning to in your nightmares, drowning, until you learn its newly given name.

He wants to say it feels like your skates hitting the ice at the wrong angle and what has seemed so sure and easy and right one second ago suddenly trips you off balance and your face hits asphalt instead of ice and it’s not your coach yelling at you but car honks and the screeching of halting tires that ring in your ears, when you scramble to your feet in the middle of a road you have never walked, but will, a dreading sense of recognition anchored in your heart, even though it is just a second until you lose it again, what feeble grip on the reality surrounding you you had. Your heart doesn’t stop racing even ten minutes after you find yourself back in your bed, your time, your home, your life, the man you love sleeping soundly next to you. You leave a bloody handprint on his shoulder, from where the asphalt scraped open your skin, when you shake him awake so the taste of his lips can ground you.

He wants to say it feels like standing up too quickly, like the world has stopped turning, like forgetting how to breathe, like opening a door you have walked through a thousand times and suddenly it doesn’t lead to your locker room but into the back alley of a diner where the waitress working the graveyard shift having a cigarette starts screaming, because a naked guy littered with bruises just appeared between the dumpsters. When you turn around, there is no door. There is no locker room. There is just you, you in a world that isn’t yours. At least not now, not like this. Not anymore or not yet. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

In the end he doesn’t say any of it. In the end he just shrugs and ruffles Erica’s hair.

Because what’s even harder to explain, is that sometimes it also feels like hurrying through the rain to find shelter in a doorway, but when you turn around to squint at the pouring skies you see clear blue above you and stark tree crowns reaching up from a forest you know almost as well as the back of your own hand and you are not alone, you don’t have to run, hide, steal. Because you’ve been awaited. Because you belong, not in this time, but here, with him. You belong with him and then it feels like finding a missing puzzle piece, it feels like catching a glimpse of home miles before you reach it. It feels like maybe this isn’t a curse. Maybe it takes and takes and takes but every now and then it gives too.

It feels like a first bite after years of starving.

But most of all it feels like losing.

When Patrick is out there, lost in time, he’s _less_. He’s not the Patrick Kane whose absence he leaves behind. He’s naked and alone and desperate, nothing with him except his own skin and bones, his own worn body that is no stranger to being yanked around, dislocated from _now_ , tossed into _then_. He’s got nothing but himself, or rather, a diminished version of himself, one that has to steal and run and hide and stray, a scared animal, a picture out of focus.

He’s losing himself and what he leaves behind. Sometimes he loses only seconds, sometimes it’s minutes, hours. Once, when Patrick has been twelve, it had been three days. The time doesn’t always equal the inverted fractions he receives in return, so in the end he’s losing no matter what.

Sometimes he’s losing his mind too, crying and screaming and asking why why why.

He has yet to find an answer. Of course there are patterns, hints, sorts of clues and regularities, triggers that offer the illusion of logic behind the madness. But just when Patrick thinks he figures something out he’s being plucked out of time again, seemingly without any reason, in a cruel act of randomness, proving once again that he is, if anything, only riding shotgun, no control over when and where and how.

The only comfort is Jonny. Jonny, always Jonny. Patrick doesn’t know how, doesn’t understand, but despite his life being a continuous interruption, a scatter of disrupted moments and reflections, Jonny is a constant.

And losing him hurts the most. It is what Patrick learns to hate the most. Leaving Jonny behind, going, jumping, falling. Jonny can’t follow. And without him, Patrick is lost.

 

***

 

**_ July 2007 Jonny is 19, Patrick is 18 _ **

It’s the day before prospect camp starts. Prospect camp of the Chicago Blackhawks, an NHL original six franchise. If anybody would ask Jonny if he is nervous, of course he would say yes. He is confident in his abilities, he knows he is good, better than good at times, or he wouldn’t be here. He knows that. But there are still worlds between playing hockey in college, for the UND, being good at that, and the NHL. It’s a whole different universe and Jonny wants to make it so badly, wants to make the team wants to prove to himself and to everyone that what started as a kid’s dream on a frozen pond really _can_ be his career, that all the work, hours of sweat and blood and sacrifice he put into this will eventually have payed off.

So of course Jonny is nervous, sitting in his dorm room, his half unpacked duffle bag open next to him on the bed, feeling his heart beat to his throat. If somebody asked him, he would tell them that. But what he wouldn’t tell is that there is a second reason why Jonny is nervous.

That second reason is Patrick. Patrick Kane, London Knights’ superstar, 1st overall draft pick 2007, much proclaimed hockey genius, brilliant forward, and above all _Jonny’s_. Jonny’s Patrick. And this time it’s not just a visit, not just Patrick flung out of time, a flash of the future finding its way into Jonny’s life, Jonny’s present for a few precious moments, minutes, sometimes hours. This Patrick belongs, not to Jonny, not yet, but in this time. This time, that is also Jonny’s. It’s going to be them, together, finally, after all those years of waiting. Considering it’s been over a decade, waiting these last few hours, minutes, Jonny waiting in this room for Patrick to arrive, it really shouldn’t be this hard, but it is. Jonny can barely stand it, has to force himself to not pace, not to fidget, not to get up and just say fuck it and just go find Patrick, right this very second, because damn it, he’s waited long enough.

Patrick has always been secretive regarding specifics about the future, sometimes more and sometimes less, depending which version of him and what mood, but in general he doesn’t tell Jonny much. Especially not things that could lead to Jonny messing with things, as in time, knowing too much too soon or something. He never tells Jonny his last name. It takes Jonny three years to learn that Pat, which Patrick introduces himself as the first time they meet, isn’t short for Patrice (to this day Jonny can’t recall why he assumed Patrick would have a French name especially since no Patrick he ever meets speaks French) but for Patrick. Figuring out Patrick being American instead of Canadian has worked fairly quickly in comparison.

Growing up as a child, trying and failing to get Patrick to reveal how they would meet, Jonny has imagined countless of possibilities how he and Patrick would find each other, some ridiculously romantic, inspired by whatever movie he’d watched with his mom, some unrealistic and full of childish optimism, and some thought-through rationally, analytically. He used to tell them to Patrick sometimes, when they would walk through the woods behind Jonny’s house side by side, as it was too warm for ice and thus for hockey. Patrick would always smile and laugh, never meanly, but sometimes a little condescending still, when he would point out holes in Jonny’s theories and in the beginning it has made Jonny stop telling Patrick about his ideas until he had realized that Patrick, especially the younger versions, would tend to give stuff away a bit more carelessly if Jonny just kept on talking. So when Jonny says that he’s going to spot Patrick in the crowd when the jumbotron shows the audience at a Jet’s game they coincidently both got tickets to, Patrick laughs at him, but also says that he sees Jonny first. When Jonny frowns and asks how that is supposed to work since the Patrick Jonny will meet won’t know Jonny, Patrick clasps his hand over his mouth, grinning and reminding himself and Jonny that he isn’t supposed to say anything, that things happen the way they are supposed to and knowing too much is not good.

It takes Jonny a while, years to be exact, to figure out what Patrick means with _I see you first_ and when he does he is furious. Because Patrick and him meet four times before now, before July 2007 and only one of those times Jonny recognizes him as his Patrick, his time traveling best friend slash boyfriend. The first time is 2000 and Jonny is 12 years old and the other 12 year old kid on the opposing team, beating Jonny’s team 6-3 is just another kid. Kane. Patrick Kane. The child face behind the visor of a hockey helmet doesn’t look much like the Patrick Jonny knows and loves. The Patrick Jonny knows has been 25 at the youngest and the name Patrick? There are a million boys named Patrick in North America, half of them are playing hockey as well it seems, so there has really been nothing to go by. Just another name, another face. It’s a little mind boggling and frustrating, finding out you shared the ice with the boy who will be the love of your life one day and yet you just walked away, not even remembering him. But Patrick has, according to future him anyway. Saying that he had known when he has met Jonny on the ice, even though he had beat him, that this wouldn’t be the last time, that Jonny would be important. Of course he had meant it in a hockey sense of things that he and Jonny would stick with hockey, try to make it big and thus cross ways again and again. But he _has_ seen him first.

The second time is barely a year later 2001 at a hockey tournament, of course, what else? And again Patrick is just another Patrick to Jonny, nothing more nothing less. A fucking talented one, that is, but still. Jonny is 13 and Patrick is 12 and Jonny doesn’t recognize him. And once more Jonny just walks away not knowing who he is parting ways with.

The third time is January 2005 and Jonny is 16 just as Patrick is and once again they meet on the ice and once again Patrick beats Jonny’s team, 3-2 this time, but it doesn’t hurt any less. Jonny has trained so hard, has poured his all into the game, wanting to shine here in Lethbridge at the World U17 , but it just hasn’t been enough and in that moment Jonny has hated that ridiculously talented Kane kid so much, but never once has he drawn the connection, between this boy and Patrick. Jonny likes to think that it had been because they hadn’t really crossed paths off the ice, and during games, well, they had worn helmets and there sure as hell had been more important things to focus on than the shade of blue of your opponents eyes, the way their blonde hair curls in the nape of their neck and the weirdly familiar curve of their lips.

And then it’s 2007. It’s January 2007 and Jonny beats Patrick to carry Canada to the finals of the WJC and this time Patrick and he, they are 18 and this time Jonny sees. He sees Patrick, he recognizes Patrick, it’s a moment Jonny will never forget, Patrick angry, mad and disappointed glaring at Jonny as he shakes his hand, furious at failing to do for the US what Jonny has done for Canada, probably not thinking twice about the stupid way Jonny gapes at him for all 2 seconds their handshake lasts and then simply walking away. And even if by then Jonny knows about Patrick Kane, in the vague sense you are aware of your competition when your life is dictated by competing in a sport you love, it’s in that moment, his body exhausted and his lungs burning after the game, sweat running down his neck, it’s then that Jonny realizes who Patrick is, that he is Jonny’s Patrick.

Jonny punches his hand bloody on the wall that night, the ache in his chest just unbearable, because he had been there, right there so many times, within arm’s reach and Jonny had let him walk away and now the gaping absence Jonny feels every waking second burns like a forest fire. Patrick kisses his aching knuckles later that night, shows him how to bandage and ice them properly, pressing a kiss to Jonny’s hair and promising him that it has been better that way, that this was how things were supposed to go, that this Patrick and this Jonny aren’t meant for each other, not yet anyway. It’s a weak consolation, if anything, but it’s what Jonny gets so he tries to be content with crying into Patrick’s chest, soaking the stolen shirt he is wearing. And with Patrick’s arms around him, things don’t seem so bleak after all.

Jonny tries to find Patrick after the game, but things happen so fast and there are celebrations and preparations and there’s a final to play and somehow, someway they miss each other, Jonny doesn’t manage to get a moment to string up a conversation with Patrick, even though he is there, right there, but as Patrick always says, everything happens the way it’s supposed to and maybe Jonny wasn’t supposed to tell Patrick then.

But it is now. The time is now. It has to be. Jonny is sure of that. He takes a couple of gulps out of his water bottle and tosses it to the side. He sort of wishes Patrick was here, the Patrick he knows, comforting him, telling him it’s okay, that things will go great, but he is alone and over the years Jonny has gotten used to Patrick not always being there when Jonny needs him. He would if he could, Patrick has promised that once, but he can’t, so Jonny has had to learn to deal on his own. In his head he’s going through the words he’s always imagined he’s going to say to Patrick. Words he has prepared for years, scratched lines, added words, changed the tone, but the essence has always stayed the same. _I know you. You are my best friend. I’ll be yours. We belong together, you and I. We have a future and it begins today._ Also, _I love you I love you I love you._

He’s always known –and he knows now- that he won’t say them. They would make him sound like maniac with possible delusions, not to think of what they would do to this Patrick. Telling a person that doesn’t know you that you love them and that they love you, it’s invasive and creepy and it also puts a lof of pressure on that person. What had Patrick said again?

 _‘Be gentle with me. Don’t overwhelm me. Remember Jonny, you know me, you had years and years to look forward to this. He-_ I _don’t know things are changing, I don’t know you are right there, waiting for me behind that door, with all that history, all that future. It’s a lot.’_

And it is, Jonny knows that, rationally, but he’s kept this secret, this best part of his life hidden for so long, never talked about it, never told anyone, never spilled his guts about all the longing and missing and loving. He’s kept it all inside and it’s been years and Jonny is tired of being the only one in this relationship most of the days, so being gentle and considerate is not really on the forefront of his conscience right now. It’s a push and pull, between him knowing what is right, what he should do and will do and what a tiny selfish part of him _wants_ to do, with Jonny caught in the middle leaving him with no idea what to say or how to act.

He’s imagined it countless of times –telling people about Patrick and what he and Jonny share- every time his mom has shot him a pitiful glance and his teammates have chirped him for not flirting with the girls, not getting a girlfriend, whatever. They have thought Jonny has been lonely and Jonny _has been_ but not because he hasn’t had anybody, but precisely because he has. He has wanted to yell at them, tell them all that he has somebody, someone who wants him, loves him, returning to him through time and space again and again, like fate itself pulls them together against all odds. He wants to scream that he’s the one part of an interdimensional time defeating epic love story and no amount of flirting, no allegedly sexy hook-ups, or whatever could ever get anywhere close to what Jonny has, will have, with Patrick. But he has never said any of that. Because Patrick is a secret and secrets are meant to be kept.

Besides, Jonny is pretty sure if his mom had found out that Jonny has been pretty much hooking up with a guy, varying between the age of 23 and 35, since he himself had been basically 14, would have not ended well for Patrick. In his head Jonny has dubbed their first kiss when he had been 14 as the beginning of their relationship, but if he’s being honest 16 or 17 is probably more accurate. Yes, he confessed his feeling to Patrick when he was 14, sort of, and Patrick had revealed to him that he and Jonny were in fact a thing in the future, but up until Jonny had been 15 Patrick had only ever let Jonny have closed mouthed chaste kisses, no touching, nothing sexual. It had been a very frustrating time for Jonny even though he had sort of understood that Patrick felt more than just vaguely creepy making out with a kid half his age.

The first time Patrick has sucked Jonny off has been the night before Jonny’s 16th birthday and when Jonny had been allowed to reciprocate, nervous with giddy excitement and inexperience, sinking to his knees, it had been the best way he’s ever celebrated a birthday.

At 17 a 31 years old Patrick has fucked Jonny for the first time and Jonny will never forget the feeling of finally getting what he pretty much dreamed of since he was thirteen. He imagines it being a little bit like that, meeting the Patrick of his time for the first time. He has waited so long for this and now it’s finally time, it’s a matter of minutes, half an hour tops until Patrick arrives. It must be fate really, that by some miracle they have been decided to room together. A sign, maybe. A sign that nobody gets but Jonny. And soon Patrick too.

“Hi.”

Jonny’s head snaps up and if it was anyone else Jonny would wonder how he has missed the door creaking open, but it’s Patrick, it’s Patrick, standing right there in the doorway a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, grinning at Jonny and there is no space for anything else left in Jonny’s brain.

It’s Patrick. Impossibly young, hair short in a way Jonny has only seen him wear a handful of times, but it’s still long enough so the ends curl a bit and that, that is familiar, Jonny loves that hair, those blonde curls, has run his hands through them, through dumb mullet cuts, and combed back hair, receding hair line, sometimes thinner, sometimes thicker, he knows it. And he knows those eyes, despite the different look in them. They don’t look at Jonny like the other Patricks do, they don’t know him. He’s _so_ young. And so thin, hasn’t built up the muscle mass yet Jonny knows, still has a bit of growing to do but Jonny has been taller than every Patrick for a while now so it’s not that unfamiliar to basically tower over him.

Just as Jonny realizes he’s been gaping at Patrick for quite a few moments now, Patrick, young, small, present Patrick clears his throat a little awkwardly, his eyes twinkling as he throws his bag on the bed opposite from Jonny’s.

“Yeeeah, you are right.” Patrick says stretching the first word comically, “Kinda dumb to do the whole introducing shit if I know who you are and you know who I am. I mean-”he lets out a little laugh shrugging, just as Jonny finds his voice again.

“Patrick,” he breathes and cringes internally the very same second. Thankfully Patrick doesn’t seem to find Jonny’s, admittedly very weird behaviour, too weird and doesn’t comment.

“That’s right.” He just says grinning, “Gold star for Toews. Here’s to being roomies, man.”

Jonny almost flinches at that, he has known of course that this Patrick isn’t his Patrick yet, but being called by his last name, so causal without it being for chirping or banter or something, without the usual affection present in the syllable, feels a little like being checked into the boards without seeing it coming. It’s so distant. Not in a mean unfriendly way, just… not close. Two strangers that vaguely know about each other but don’t _know_ each other. It resonates on a fundamentally wrong wavelength.

“Jonny.” He blurts out.

Patrick frowns for a moment, “What?”

“Jonny,” Jonny repeats, licking his suddenly very dry lips, “You call me Jonny. I mean you should… call me that.”

He fights the urge to punch himself for being so goddamn clumsy and stumbling over his words like he’s twelve years old again, for a couple of seconds, because damn, he knows how to talk. He’s not an idiot and he usually isn’t a rambling mess, but this is Patrick. Patrick who’s looking at Jonny now like he’s trying to figure out if he’s going to call Jonny out on being weird this time or let it slide again.

“Well, Jonny,” Patrick says after a moment of silence, an awkward one from Jonny’s side as he’s trying to figure out what to say. All the scenarios he has imagined, all the first words, first conversations and what has really happened is an unspectacular ordinary simple _‘hi’_ from Patrick and dumb gaping from Jonny. It feels inadequate somehow, not doing the expanse of Jonny’s feelings justice in the slightest.

“This is gonna rock. I know it” Patrick nods, maybe more to himself than to Jonny, “We are gonna be awesome. We are gonna be ‘Hawks and it’ll be fucking fantastic.” Jonny can’t help but notice the way this Patrick clips the syllables a little, the more obvious way his tongue hits his teeth when he talks, making his lisp more pronounced than Jonny has ever heard it. It’s barely noticeable as it is, but Jonny has the comparison so he can’t help but stare, look at Patrick’s mouth were he can see flashes of his tongue every now and then. “I’ve been dreaming of this since forever.”

“Yeah.” Jonny all but whispers.

“The NHL, man.” Patrick continues and _oh,_ of course that is what Patrick is talking about. “It’s the fucking NHL, can you believe it, Jonny? We are so close. One week. I’m gonna show them. I’m gonna make the team, you’ll see.”

“Yes.” Jonny agrees, because yes, he will, he’ll see Patrick succeed, he’ll succeed with him, from this day on Jonny will be there, this is the beginning. He doesn’t actually know if they are going to make the team, how they’ll do in prospect camp or how their lives will play out from this moment on but he knows it’s going to be him and Patrick. It has to be. Jonny won’t let this moment get away from him. They have met. They are talking. Jonny knows. This is it. Jonny will see.

Patrick lets out a laugh, shooting Jonny a quizzical half amused glance, “Dude, what’s with the monosyllabic answers?”

“I-” Jonny opens his mouth, but for all he thought about how this first conversation was going to go, his head is nothing but a blustering void.

“Anyway,” Patrick interrupts him, batting his hand like he’s too impatient or hasn’t been really interested in an answer in the first place. Which is… unfamiliar to put it mildly. Patrick always cares for what Jonny has to say. Even if it’s just embarrassed stuttering.

“So, me and a couple of the guys were planning to go out for some drinks. You know, kick off prospect camp the right way. Wanna come with?” He wiggles his eyebrows in a really obnoxious and kind of dopy way.

“Drink?” Jonny echoes.

“Yeah. Drink. Alcohol as in,” Patrick makes a hand motion like he’s chucking down shots, “You know?”

“But you aren’t supposed to drink.” Jonny blurts out, because Patrick doesn’t- He doesn’t drink, doesn’t get drunk, apart from that one time, that one frightening, confusing night in Shattuck when Jonny had been sixteen, he’s never seen Patrick wasted. It makes him travel, Patrick has explained once, or rather it enhances the chance of it happening. Something about losing grip on the moment, reality getting too hazy, edges blurring. It’s like walking a high wire and adding alcohol to the mix is like asking for extra hard wind. The Patrick Jonny knows is aware of that, acts accordingly. This Patrick… does he not know? Does he not care? Is Jonny supposed to tell him? Jonny feels kind of dumbstruck and it must show on his face. Or at least, _something_ shows on his face, because a flash of hurt flares up in Patrick eyes and then a sulky sort of defensive look settles over his features, his gaze turning hard.

“What? You the drinking police now?” he sounds irritated and distant, “Whatever, Toews. Suit yourself.”

He doesn’t spare Jonny another glance before he stomps off and just like that Jonny is alone again. Alone in his room. Without Patrick. And what the fuck has just happened? How could that have been it? His real first meeting with present Patrick? Their first conversation?

Jonny is still staring at the empty space Patrick has left behind, struggling to comprehend that Patrick hasn’t left because he has been pulled back through time, an involuntary disruption. He hasn’t left Jonny because of some higher power or freaky condition. No. He has left because Jonny has pissed him off, he has left because Jonny has failed to be a proper functioning human being having a normal conversation with the guy that will be and sort of is the love of his life.

***

**_  Jonny is 5, Patrick is 35 _ **

Jonny is alone in the woods at the edge of his parents’ property, playing with a stick he is pretending to be a sword. He wishes David was old enough to play with him, but he’s just three and his favourite way to pass time is being carried around by their parents. He’s boring. And Jonny hates to be bored. And he hates summer. He wants to skate but it will be months until his father will build him an outdoor rink and Jonny misses skating fiercely. Street hockey is fun but it’s just not the same.

He huffs angrily, hitting a tree with his stick, just because he can and because it’s unfair that winter is so far away and that his dad would rather sit on the porch with his mom and David instead of playing with Jonny.

A sudden yelp makes Jonny jump, then freeze and when no other sound follows he stares awestruck at the tree. Has it make that sound? No. Trees don’t yelp. Right? Jonny frowns and moves to poke his stick at the tree again, but before he can put his theory to the test there’s another sound, one of sticks cracking and then there’s a man in front of Jonny, having stumbled out from behind the very tree Jonny has suspected of having yelped.

The man is naked. And he kinda looks like he hit his head on a branch. What a moron. Maybe _he_ is the one that yelped?

“Who are you?” Jonny asks after a moment that he spends watching the guy rubbing his head and quietly cursing while looking on the ground almost like he is searching for something. At the sound of Jonny’s voice his head snaps up and while Jonny keeps scowling at him, using his best impression of the stern look his father gives him sometimes, a wide grin spreads across the man’s face.

“Jonny!” the man exclaims and he honestly sounds very relieved and very happy and Jonny, Jonny is just confused. “Oh, thank god you are here. I can’t find the box and-” he rambles on but then halts, eyes Jonny for several long moments until some sort of comprehension dawns on his face and a quiet “Oh,” escapes his lips.

Jonny takes a step back, grip tightening around his stick. “How do you know my name?” he demands, putting on his brave face. He has been the only one from his class that hasn’t been scared of the snakes at the zoo. Or maybe he had been but everyone thought he hadn’t been and that’s what counts. Jonny tries to look as brave as he has in front of the terrarium now. He thinks pretending helps, “And why are you naked?”

It’s the beginning of fall and while it’s warm it’s not _that_ warm and Jonny is pretty sure you aren’t supposed to show up naked in other peoples’ backyards.

“Oh,” the man repeats, covering his private parts with his hands quickly and giving Jonny another, now admittedly slightly awkward smile, “You are five, aren’t you? That means you don’t know me. Oh, oh man. Jesus. Crap. This is weird. Okay. My name is Pat. Hi, nice to meet you, Jonny. It’s really, really nice to meet you. But would you mind maybe running back to your house and borrowing me a pair of pants? Pretty please? I promise I’ll explain as soon as I’m not… well.” He pulls a face, glancing down his body.

Jonny tilts his head, eying the man, Pat, for a couple of moments. He has his stick, he could hit him and make him go away. But what if he gets mad? What if he can run faster than Jonny, his legs are longer and he looks fast. His limbs aren’t as scrawny and spidery as Jonny’s. He looks strong too.

Oh. What if he’s one of those people that catch children that his teacher had talked about, had explained how you are not supposed to talk or go with strangers because they want to do bad things to children. Jonny just hasn’t thought it could happen like this. He doesn’t want to have bad things done to him. Even though he isn’t really sure what those bad things could be.

“Papaaaa!! Maman!” Jonny yells as loud as he can and bolts, starts running as fast as he can, dropping his stick in the process.

“Shit, fuck, wait!” Pat curses and Jonny has been right, he _is_ fast, because even though Jonny knows he’s quick, Patrick catches him before he has the chance to get far, a strong arm wrapping around his middle as a hand clasps over his mouth, “Ssshh Jonny, please!” Patrick urges just as Jonny bites down hard, causing Patrick to let out another yelp but not let go. “Fuck, Jonny. That hurts.”

 _It’s supposed to, asshole_. Jonny thinks before he remembers that asshole is a bad word and he’s not supposed to think or say it. His mom would get mad.

“Are you a pervert?” Jonny asks when Pat lets go of him after a moment that Jonny spends patiently not struggling. “Tu viens me kidnapper?”

“No!” Pat says and he sounds pretty offended for someone who has just chased a five years old through the woods with no clothes on, “Also my French is still horrible so I don’t know whatever you just- Like- I don’t know.” Oh. Jonny hasn’t even realized he has slipped into French, or rather he _has_ but it’s just so weird. He’s used to slipping from one language into the other without it being much problem. At least not at home where everyone speaks both French and English. “I’m your friend Jonny. Best friend actually. Or, rather, I’m _going_ _to_ be. So please don’t bite me again.”

Jonny squints at him. Why would he be friends with an old guy that runs naked through the woods and doesn’t even speak French?

“Mon papa a un fusil.” Jonny says enjoying how it makes him feel a tiny bit smarter, being able to speak a language this guy -who’s an adult- can’t. When the man, Pat, just stares at him he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, “My daddy has a gun and he’s gonna shoot you dead. Very dead.”

Pat’s eyes go wide and for a moment he seems caught between wanting to hold up his hands and covering his still very naked boy bits. “Jonny, please… believe me it would not… be very good… if your father-” he lets out a nervous laugh, “Your father actually quite likes me. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Or like… not die. But he does, when I meet him. Eventually. I mean I guess technically it takes him a while but that’s beside the point. Look, you have to understand, Jonny, this-” he gestures around himself, “-looks kinda bad for me so just listen please. Nobody has to get shot, okay?” he runs a hand through his hair, “Dear god, this is way more stressful than you told me it would be. Jesus. Look, Jonny. You are my best friend, okay? My best friend in the whole world.”

“But I don’t know you.” Jonny points out to which Pat responds with pulling a face that makes Jonny kind of want to giggle. Which, no. Pat is a weirdo and Jonny is being a big boy and he’s going to make him go away.

“Yeah. I can see how that might bug you.” Pat admits and Jonny nods to himself, always feeling a little satisfied when adults care for what he thinks. Pat gives him a soft smile then and crouches down so they are mostly eyelevel. “You see Jonny, here’s a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”

“Why?” Jonny asks, sceptically. He shuffles a bit, biting his lip. He kind of does want to know the secret.

“Because friends don’t tell their friend’s secrets.” Pat points out, like, _duh._

“Oh.” Jonny says, blushing a bit. “Okay.” He knows that of course. It’s just that he doesn’t- It’s embarrassing but Jonny doesn’t really have many friends. He finds it hard, talking to other kids, making them want to play with him. He doesn’t get why but they think he’s weird and Jonny plays alone most of the days because of that. But Pat doesn’t need to know that. Jonny could be a good friend if someone just gave him a chance to. “I promise.” He says, holding out his finger for Pat to pinky promise.

Pat does and Jonny returns his smile tentatively, maybe Pat really is not a pervert. “What’s the secret?” he asks a little impatiently.

“I’m a time traveller.” Pat says and Jonny gapes at him.

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Pat nods and Jonny’s eyes feel like they are going to pop out of his head, because _time travel._ So cool. Unless Pat is mocking Jonny then it’s mean and Jonny is probably going to cry.

“That’s why I’m naked. I travel but my clothes don’t.” Pat continues, sounding slightly mournful, “This here? Not my preferred outfit for meeting friends.”

Jonny purses his lips, “You must not be a very good time traveller then.” He says, because he saw a cartoon once where a girl could time travel and she could do it dressed.

Pat laughs at that, not in a mean way but with a twinkle in his eyes that makes Jonny feel sort of proud, “I suppose not.” Pat agrees solemnly, patting Jonny’s head, “But can I still convince you to get me some pants? Even for a ‘not very good time traveller’? Hm? Help a buddy out?”

_Buddy._

Jonny bites his lip, “We are buddies?” he asks, a little shyly, “In the future? Best friends?”

He really hopes Pat isn’t playing a prank on him. Jonny would really like a best friend. Even if he’s weird like Pat, running around naked.

“Oh yeah. The bestest.” Patrick confirms and Jonny can’t help but grin from ear to ear at that, now that Pat doesn’t seem intent on kidnapping Jonny, “You and I. I swear.”

Jonny nods to himself. Having a time traveller as a friend sounds very cool. “Are you naked in the future too?” he inquires feeling daring and curious alike.

“Well…” Pat gives him a look, half a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “In the future… when I come visit you, and I come visit you here a lot, or rather past mes, anyway, you keep a box hidden here in the woods with clothes and skates for me. Because it’s actually as unpleasant as it sounds, running around winter Winterpeg naked. Can confirm.”

“Skates?” Jonny repeats excitedly. Pat can skate! His new friend Pat can skate, he must play hockey too. Maybe he’ll play with Jonny one day!

“Yeah.” Pat holds up his hand quickly before Jonny can say anything else, “Jonny, I know you have a bunch of questions but- pants? Yeah? Maybe we could get me some pants?” he hesitates, “…s'il te plait?” he adds after a moment in really horribly accented French that makes Jonny scrunch up his nose.

If Pat is going to be his friend he is going to need to teach him how to say things properly. That would be nice. Just because Jonny is five people always treat him like he doesn’t know things but he does and being the one teaching an adult something would be cool, he thinks.

He nods eagerly and runs in the direction of his house as fast as he can. It’s easy to slip inside and steal a pair of his dad’s pants and a shirt from the laundry basket but Jonny has to get creative so his mom, still sitting on the porch with David in her lap, doesn’t see that he’s smuggling clothes into the woods.

“Pat!” he yells when he’s coming close to the spot where he left Pat at, but when he reaches it there is no Pat. There is no one. Nothing. Just Jonny with an arm full of clothes and a sinking heart.

Two agonizingly long weeks Jonny thinks he has imagined Pat. He still leaves the clothes in a plastic bag in the hollow part of a tree trunk. But mostly because he’s too embarrassed to walk back with them to the house, face red with shame, because he has made up an entire time travelling person to be his friend and then even that friend has disappeared on him.

It seems utterly magical when Pat _does_ comes back. And Jonny guesses, it probably is.

 

***

 

**_ July 2007 Jonny is 19, Patrick is 18 _ **

Jonny plans to stay up and wait for Patrick so he can have a proper conversation with him, a real talk, where he gets to tell Patrick who he is, that he knows about Patrick’s secret, tell him about their friendship. He knows he isn’t allowed to drop the whole truth on Patrick, reveal the epic proportions of what they mean and will mean to each other, but he has to say something. It would feel wrong letting Patrick walk around in the belief that he’s as much of a stranger to Jonny as Jonny is to him. It’s an imbalance and Patrick deserves to be aware of it at least.

Visiting Patricks have warned Jonny about going all in though, had stressed again and again that things would happen the way they were meant to happen, that knowing too much about your future is dangerous, that Jonny and present Patrick they should have as much free will, as much free choices as possible and knowing the future negates those choices. Jonny half gets it, but he’s also tired of waiting. It’s been so long, so many years and now that he’s finally met him he can’t even be with Patrick the way Patrick has promised him they would.

The Patrick of his time is still out, it’s late, past curfew and Jonny is lying in his bed staring at the ceiling because he can’t stand looking at Patrick’s empty bed any longer.

There is more than one option: Patrick is probably just being reckless and irresponsible, illegaly drinking his ass off, acting like a true eighteen year old kid that’s _this_ close to living his dream. But there is always the off-chance that he has travelled, that he’s lost in time somewhere and there is no way of knowing how long he’ll be gone, in what situation he gets himself into. Patrick has always said that the visits to Jonny have been the most pleasant travels of his. The least dangerous too. But even if present Patrick has travelled, it’s not to Jonny, he knows that. Jonny has never met eighteen years old Patrick before.

So wherever Patrick is, Jonny worries. He worries and the worst thing is Patrick doesn’t even know Jonny worries. He doesn’t know that Jonny is waiting for him, has been waiting for him for years. But tomorrow, tomorrow Jonny will tell him for sure. He’ll make things right and it’s going to be Patrick and him. Like Patrick told him it would be. Best friends and one day in love too.

 _Everything happens the way it’s supposed to happen_ , Jonny reminds himself and closes his eyes only for a moment, allowing himself to picture it and for the first time it truly feels within reach.

When he wakes up the next morning Patrick is sleeping soundly in his bed, mouth slightly open and drooling a little on his pillow. Jonny watches him for a moment, just glad that he hasn’t dreamed Patrick really being here up, before getting up to take a quick shower. He needs to get ready. Prospect camp starts today and even though Patrick is in some way always in the forefront of Jonny’s mind he has to focus on this now. This is hockey. This is his dream. He’s got the chance to play in the NHL, the fucking NHL as Patrick has put it so eloquently last night. He can’t afford to be distracted, not if he wants to make the team. And he does. Playing hockey for a living has been his dream for longer than Patrick has been. Besides, playing for the NHL together, that’s sounds like a pretty awesome start of their story, Jonny thinks.

 

***

 


	2. Chapter 2

Playing hockey with Patrick is nothing short of amazing. They click almost instantly and while this Patrick doesn’t have the brilliant refined skill Jonny knows from his older counterparts, he is still a god on the ice and Jonny thinks even someone who doesn’t know what Jonny knows can see the enormous potential in the way Patrick moves, the way he skates, the magic he does with the puck. And the fantastic thing is even though Jonny feels the tug of jealousy just like probably 99% of the other prospects do, he also feels what Patrick has made him feel all his life, and that is: better. Playing hockey with Patrick, being on his line, it makes Jonny better, gives his game another edge and even though he is dead tired every night he wishes camp would never end. And the thing is it doesn’t have to. If they both make it, and Jonny has no illusions over Patrick making it -they’d be stupid not to take him- then they get to do this for the whole season, maybe years to follow. Patrick won’t disappear on him. This is them, their magic and it’s the most incredible thing Jonny has ever felt. All the possibilities, the potential and promises.

The only problem is that days have passed and despite rocking it on the ice Jonny hasn’t really found a way to connect to Patrick off the ice yet. They’ve gotten into a shouting match with one another over some play Patrick pulled that according to Patrick has been ‘ballers’ and but according to Jonny has been everything but. And that, that has been pretty much it. Jonny has tried a couple of times but Patrick seems to be all over the place all the time, no chance to catch him alone for a serious conversation. Not that those seem to be this Patrick’s thing anyway, unless hockey is concerned. He’s so energetic, constantly up to something, talking and moving and just hectic in a way that Jonny doesn’t quite get. It’s not the Patrick he knows, who’s kind of goofy yes, but also way more quiet and thoughtful than his eighteen years old self would let to believe.

That it’s partly due to Patrick being insecure, him trying to prove himself is something that takes Jonny almost the whole week to understand. It’s so much easier to see through those antics and make sense of Patrick when Patrick actually talks to him like future Patrick does, when he’s the Patrick Jonny knows. But he isn’t and he doesn’t know that he can talk to Jonny about things other than the next play and worst of all… his girlfriend.

Patrick has a girlfriend. And that is something Jonny in his childish naivety hadn’t seen coming even though he had known, technically, that Patrick hasn’t been waiting for Jonny like Jonny has been waiting for him. finding out hurts. But Jonny pushes it aside, swallows down the words because they are sitting in Dave Bolland’s room with a couple of the guys, drinking beer someone smuggled in and talking about nothing in particular. So Patrick offhandedly mentioning his supposedly super-hot girlfriend Chloe is nothing Jonny can react to in the way he wants to. He opts for keeping quiet, scowling at Patrick taking a sip of his beer and showing the guys a picture of her on his phone to which they all nod appreciatively.

“You got a girl at home too, Jonny?” Patrick asks when Jonny barely spares the photo a glance, “Or I mean… shit where did you go again? University of something-something? Some hot college chick waiting for you?” he wiggles his eyebrows.

Jonny just rolls his eyes, “University of North Dakota.” He says pointedly, “And no.” No one’s waiting for him. He’s the one who’s doing the waiting.

“Aww, that’s okay, bro.” Patrick pats him on the back, “When we are big shot NHL stars you’ll pretty much drown in pussy. No worries.”

“Can’t wait.” Jonny says flatly and for some reason that has Patrick giggle into his shoulder for a good two minutes before someone stirs the conversation topic back to hockey, which Jonny is insanely thankful for. Even though this Patrick is somewhat douchey when it comes to pretty much everything it seems, he’s still -or rather already- able to talk hockey on a level that is unmatched by almost everyone in this room.

“That thing you do-” Patrick says suddenly, turning out of his discussion with Corey to look at Jonny intently, his bright blue eyes focused on Jonny and only Jonny, “You know when you-“ he makes a somewhat indistinct motion with his fingers, “with your stick, like today-“ he waves his hands around some more, “When you got around Alex there and-” he pauses squinting at Jonny, “You know what I mean right?” and by some miracle Jonny actually does, or at least he thinks he does, “That move, man…” Patrick shakes his head, “You gotta show me how to do it. It was fucking sick.”

For approximately 20 seconds Jonny just stares at him, his mouth slightly open. The move Patrick is referring to, what he’s asking Jonny to teach him, the thing about it is that Jonny has learned it from Patrick. It’s Patrick’s trick, Patrick’s skill. Jonny remembers it, being eleven and skating on the rink his father build for him in the woods behind the house and Patrick showing off a bit and Jonny, Jonny had asked him to teach him.

“I can’t play.” Jonny had said, frustrated, from school and practice that day and the fact that Patrick had shown up so late that Jonny would soon have to go in for dinner soon which was going to cut their time together short.

Patrick had tilted his head, a questioning look on his face as he passed the puck to Jonny with a lazy tap of his stick, “It was good, Jonny. You are getting the hang of it.”

Jonny had only sulked, mumbling a frustrated “I can’t play _like you_.” In the collar of his jacket. It hadn’t mattered to eleven years old Jonny that he was matching himself with someone more than twice his age with years and years of training on him. It had just been a shitty day and being bad at the sport he loved only made it shittier. Patrick had put down his stick to wrap an arm around Jonny’s shoulders and pull him into a quick hug.

“Of course not.” He had said, “You aren’t supposed to play like me. You are supposed to play like _you_. And you are extraordinary. Trust me.”

Jonny remembers having wanted to kick Patrick in the shin.

“I want to be as good as you.” Jonny had insisted. “I want to do that- the thing you do when you-“ Jonny had shuffled the puck around a bit, trying to show Patrick what he meant, “I want to be able to do that. But I suck.”

And Patrick had laughed. At the time Jonny hadn’t gotten why, had been angry at Patrick for it, because it had felt a little like mockery but now, now Jonny gets it. He’s staring at Patrick, who’s still waiting for an answer and he gets it.

Patrick has taught that move to Jonny, older Patrick, a time travelling Patrick has showed Jonny how to do it and now present Patrick, the Patrick of Jonny’s time is asking to learn it from Jonny. He feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and it’s not only because Patrick asking this, unknowingly creating a link to his past (or future?) with Jonny, it is also an appreciation of Jonny’s skill. And of course Jonny knows he’s good, he is a round one third draft pick after all and that is far from bad, but hearing it from Patrick will always hold special meaning.

“You want me to show you?” he asks, not quite able to keep the smugness out of his voice. Patrick seems unaffected by it.

“Yeah man. Tomorrow?”

When Jonny nods Patrick gives him a fist bump, grinning from ear to ear before turning back to Corey to apparently inform him about America being the superior hockey nation to Canada and that’s just- No. Jonny can’t let him have that one. Regardless, that night falling asleep doesn’t feel quiet as lonely.

 

***

 

**_ Jonny is 14 and Patrick is 29 _ **

It’s as big as two thumbprints next to each other, a small purplish splotch just underneath Patrick’s ear where his jaw meets his neck, a stark contrast to Patrick’s otherwise mostly pale skin. He’s wearing a too wide t-shirt, one that Jonny’s father thinks he has lost years ago. It’s dark red and it doesn’t match the pair of green and blue swimming trunks that Jonny has stolen for him but none of that keeps Patrick from looking unfairly good. His hair is long enough to curl in his neck, being combed back from his face, and the sun reflecting in it is distracting as hell. Jonny is supposed to be doing his math homework, he’s got it spread out on the tree stump in front of him, Patrick is lounging stretched out on the blanket Jonny laid out to sit on. His shirt has ridden up a bit and his hand is resting on the exposed stretch of skin just above the waistband of his shorts and there’s a trail of golden blonde hair going down from his bellybutton, almost invisible and it’s- It’s-

It’s nothing. Jonny looks away, but his gaze finds Patrick again only moments later, like he’s magnetised. Patrick has his eyes closed, enjoying the sunlight that’s filtering through the tree crowns looking completely relaxed. Jonny could stare at him for ages. But then his eyes are slipping down again, getting hung up on the purple mark on Patrick’s neck and that’s-

 Jonny turns away again, grumbling to himself, heat rising in his cheeks. Patrick is so annoying.

“Are you staring at me?” Patrick asks, humming a melody Jonny doesn’t recognize. Jonny grits his teeth.

“No.” he says, because he _isn’t._ He _hasn’t._

Patrick makes a noncommittal noise but doesn’t say anything else so Jonny sneaks another glance at him and _oh_. Patrick has his eyes open a slit, grinning lazily at Jonny, quirking an eyebrow. Jonny blushes and looks away. It’s really unfair, Patrick is being unfair, looking like that, making Jonny feel like _that._ Jonny isn’t sure when he’s started looking at Patrick like this, differently, when he has started looking forward to Patrick’s visits for an entirely different reason than when he has been a kid who has just wanted to see his best friend who has just happened to be a time travelling grown up. Now Jonny can’t stop himself from looking, from imagining, from dreaming whenever Patrick comes to him (not that he doesn’t imagine when Patrick is gone, because he does) but now Patrick is real and in front of him and Jonny is caught between looking at his hands and his lips, the way his tongue licks over them, leaving them wet and shiny and the line of Patrick’s jaw, the way the muscles in Patrick’s arms flex when he moves and Jonny wants- He just wants.

Maybe Patrick isn’t annoying. Maybe just Jonny’s stupid annoying crush on him is.

“What’s up Jonny-boy?” Patrick asks and Jonny turns around to glare at him.

“Homework.” He bites out even though that’s not at all the reason for his foul mood and by the looks of it Patrick knows it, he gets that twinkle in his eyes that makes Jonny’s stomach feel all fluttery.

“Homework?” Patrick repeats, looking Jonny up and down for a moment and that simple movement, having Patrick’s eyes raking over his body makes Jonny feel all kinds of things even though he knows Patrick isn’t looking at him like _that_. Jonny just wishes he did. “No.” Patrick says after his inspection, “No, that’s not it. C’mon tell me what’s up.”

Jonny clenches his jaw and just shrugs. If Patrick wants to be an annoying prick, fine. Jonny doesn’t have to tell him shit. “It’s nothing.” He says.

Patrick scoffs, “Nothing my ass. C’mon lil’ Jonny. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Don’t call me that.” Jonny snaps, maybe a little harsher than Patrick deserves but he’s told Patrick a thousand times to not call Jonny that anymore. He’s not a fucking baby. He’s fourteen for god’s sake and Patrick treating him like a kid doesn’t make Jonny feel better about the feelings he’s having for Patrick. “You are annoying.” Jonny says, “That’s what’s up.” And then, on a whim, because it’s distracting and he can’t stop staring at it, Jonny bites his lip and asks, “Quelqu'un t'a embrassé là?”

He uses the French words because he knows that Patrick doesn’t understand French and that it sometimes pisses him off when Jonny uses his bilinguaility against him. Except that Jonny isn’t most of the time. Sometimes it’s just great to be able to say things to Patrick without Patrick really hearing them, in a strange way. Jonny can’t quite explain it.

_Did somebody kiss you there?_

Patrick says Jonny is being rude for doing it. Jonny says Patrick is an idiot for not speaking French. Patrick just laughs at that usually. Now he’s tilting his head, the lazy smile on his lips accompanied by a slight frown.

“Kiss?” Patrick says, a thoughtful expression in his eyes, “What are you saying about kissing? Hm?”

Jonny contemplates to just die right here on the spot. Why does this version of Patrick suddenly understand a chunk of French, even if it’s only one word? It’s just Jonny’s fucking luck. He grumbles and flicks a bug off the blanket keeping his eyes carefully averted from Patrick.

“Your neck.” Jonny mutters, not looking up, “Did somebody… kiss you there? Doesn’t look like a hockey bruise ‘s all.” He tries to sound casual and uninterested but he can’t quite keep himself from sneaking a glance at Patrick as he waits for an answer. Not that he cares for one. He doesn’t care who Patrick kisses and who gets to kiss Patrick. He doesn’t. It’s just… it’s distracting. That’s all. Too bad it’s too warm to justify handing Patrick a scarf.

“What- Oh.” Patrick seems confused for a second blinking at Jonny but then he follows Jonny’s gaze and his hand goes up to the mark on his neck, fingers brushing over the bruised skin. A soft grin sneaks its way on his lips. So annoying. “Ha. Perceptive, Jonny. And yeah. Somebody…” Patrick wiggles his eyebrows, “…did kiss me there.”

Jonny turns back around and decides to stare intently on his still mostly empty exercise sheet, because that’s better than letting Patrick see the jealousy Jonny can feel churning in his chest and he’s sure it must show on his face. He’s not that good at keeping his emotions from Patrick, which, guess what, is annoying too.

“What? What about it?” Patrick asks, poking Jonny in the side with his finger, ignoring Jonny trying to slap his arm away, “Jonny.”

“Fuck off.” Jonny grumbles to which Patrick responds with a sigh and then he sits up, hooking his chin on Jonny’s shoulder, which- okay. That’s close. Jonny can feel Patrick’s breath on his skin. He swallows and shrugs Patrick off, choosing to just stare at him until he maybe leaves Jonny in peace.

“God, _teenagers_ ,” Patrick runs one hand through his hair, “What’s up with you? You are being all sulky and moody and frankly I think after disrupting the balance of the universe just to pay you a visit I deserve an a little more welcoming treatment.” He grins and while Jonny appreciates the attempt to make him laugh, (they both know that Patrick can’t control when or where he travels) he really doesn’t want to discuss this with Patrick. It’s embarrassing enough that he himself knows he’s crushing on Patrick. No reason to make it worse by telling him.

“I need to do homework, Pat.” Jonny says sternly but somehow it ends up sounding more like a weak attempt at being snarky, “Just get out of my ass.”

“Ha.” Patrick calls out gleefully at that leaving Jonny irritated for a moment, because what did he say that’s so damn hilarious. Patrick doesn’t leave him in the dark for long though. “Ass and fuck. I’m gonna tell future you you said that. He keeps claiming he didn’t swear as a kid. I knew he was talking shit. You do it all the time. Now again. I knew it.” He pauses, then, “Crap, is that my bad influence? Oops.”

Usually Jonny loves it when Patrick mentions future-him so offhandedly because it’s usually a chance to catch some hints on what lives Jonny and him will have and it’s comforting to know that even fifteen years from now Jonny will still have his best friend, but right now Jonny is just pissed off.

“I’m not a kid.” He says pushing his jaw out.

Patrick makes a ‘yikes’ face and holds up his hands, “Apologies, Jonathan.”

 Jonny punches him in the shoulder which earns him a surprised amused glance in return.

“C'est pas juste.” he blurts out and then more quietly, looking down he mumbles the translation “It’s not fair.”

That’s the thing with Patrick, Jonny can be mad at him, very mad, but he’s always still Jonny’s best friend, the person he confides in, the person who has comforted him through so many mini crises, has been there for him, who makes him laugh like no other and when Patrick is looking at him with those questioning eyes, despite the joking and easy going attitude, Jonny can’t not say anything. He’s not good at saying no to Patrick.

“What isn’t?” Patrick asks softly and Jonny just sighs.

“You could have said it was just a bruise.” Jonny says even though he isn’t sure if he would have believed Patrick. And Patrick has promised that he would never ever lie to Jonny.

“Well, it’s not.” Patrick says looking a little confused before realization dawns on his face, “ _Oh_.” He says, “Oh, Jonny.”

Jonny flushes even harder, his face hot in a way that has nothing to do with the summer air around them. He bites his lip and shrugs again. He’s sure what he’ll find in Patrick’s eyes is pity and he can’t- He can’t handle that. It’s bad enough that he’s feeling sorry for himself all the time, he doesn’t need it too get worse by Patrick doing that for him, because yes Jonny’s crush is kind of pathetic and he hasn’t expected Patrick to get mad or be disgusted by him, Patrick wouldn’t do that not in a million years, but he doesn’t really take Jonny serious either. He has called him a kid just a couple of moments ago and Jonny is not a kid. He’s fourteen, damn it. And he knows what he feels and he doesn’t want to be patronized for it. Even if it’s a stupid crush on his best friend. Who just happens to be significantly older.

“What.” He gets out through gritted teeth, still refusing to look up.

“Oh, c’mere,” Patrick says, voice nothing more than a low rumble that resonates with Jonny on a level he can’t explain. Then there are arms around him and Patrick is pulling him into a hug. For a second Jonny allows himself to sink into it, inhaling Patrick’s scent, letting his warmth surround him until he remembers that he’s sort of mad at Patrick.

“I told you to fuck off.” Jonny grumbles pushing Patrick away and Patrick lets him, lets himself fall backwards on his elbows so he can look at Jonny slightly from below, a hint of a smile playing around his lips and his eyes are kind, not mocking or joking or even pitying. Jonny can’t quite place it.

“You are jealous. Of-” he cuts himself off sounding sort of amazed, shaking his head a low chuckle escaping his throat, “Fuck, Jonny.”

“Now you swore.” Jonny points out, just because he can and what else is he supposed to say.

It’s not that he minds though, Patrick swearing. He does that quite often actually, depending on the version of him he tries to keep it in check though, because well, to him Jonny is still a kid. And that Jonny _does_ mind.

“I’m an adult,” Patrick unsurprisingly responds, “I’m allowed to.”

“See! Again!” Jonny exclaims unable to keep his frustration in any longer, “You call me kid and teenager and you fucking laugh at me! I hate it!”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Patrick argues but he’s still got that annoying ass, cute dimply smile on as he speaks, “Okay, maybe I am but- Jonny, believe me, there is no reason for you to be jealous, yeah? No reason at all.”

“I’m not.” Jonny claims stubbornly, technically he hasn’t admitted to anything yet, “You can kiss whoever you want. See if I care.” Patrick only raises his eyebrows at Jonny so Jonny crosses his arms, “Jenny Johannsen kissed me. So.”

Patrick doesn’t seem the least fazed by that piece of information, instead he gives Jonny an encouraging nod, “Really? How was it?”

“Fine? I guess.” Jonny says, feeling irritated. It’s not that he expected Patrick to be jealous back but he has kind of hoped-

“So? Does that have anything to do with your mood or is it just-” Patrick asks, gesturing towards his neck.

“No. Yes. I mean-” Jonny huffs, “I don’t… I didn’t…” he looks down between them, looks where Patrick’s leaned onto his hands, his fingers spread over the fabric of the blanket. Jonny sighs, “I didn’t want Jenny to kiss me.” He admits quietly, letting his shoulders slump, “I want you to kiss me.”

“Jonny…”

“I know!” Jonny cuts Patrick off so he doesn’t have to hear whatever letting-you-down-gently—speech Patrick will undoubtedly give him now, “I know, I’m just a kid to you and you are an adult and you have someone else in your time to kiss and I’m a boy. I get that. I’m not an idiot, okay? I just- I know it’s stupid but I wanted you to be my first kiss. Not Jenny. Because I like you. A lot.”

“Hey.” Patrick says, but Jonny refuses to look at him. The blanket is such a safer focus point anyway. “Hey, Jonny,” Patrick repeats, “Look at me, buddy.”

So Jonny does, not only because Patrick gently cups his jaw to make him meet his eye.

“You are a fucking romantic deep down, huh? Even at fourteen. A special first kiss?” he shakes his head softly but it doesn’t feel like mockery. Patrick looks so incredibly fond and affectionate and despite the embarrassment still hot under his skin it makes Jonny feel a tiny bit better, “Let me tell you a secret, Jonny. No wait,” he pauses and grins, “Two secrets. Are you ready?”

Jonny nods.

“Okay,” Patrick holds up one finger, “Number one, your first kiss, it doesn’t matter as much as you think. Actually lots of firsts don’t really matter. And that’s good because that way they don’t get ruined or like messed up or whatever. It’s okay if they end up being less important, less earth-shattering and meaningful than you expected them to be. Because with the right person… at the right time… it’s still gonna be everything and more. Even if it’s your 500th kiss. It’s gonna matter more than every single one that came before.”

Jonny bites his lips, glancing at the smile on Patrick’s lips, shifting a little on the blanket, “What’s the second secret?”

“It’s you, Jonny.” Patrick says as if it’s as simple as that, “The second secret is you.” Jonny opens his mouth to ask what the hell Patrick means by that, because honestly he’s not in the mood for guessing games and Patrick is kinda being a dick if he’s joking right now but then Patrick points to the hickey and Jonny thinks his heart might skip a few beats. “ _You_ kissed me here. Well, future you. Last night, after the- well- Point is, you kissed me. There is no ‘someone else’ and you definitely don’t need to be jealous, Jonny.”

Jonny thinks his mouth might hang open for half a minute, “You like me back?” he whispers, because how in the world does Patrick, someone as awesome and perfect as Patrick like Jonny back? It doesn’t make sense and yet there is nothing but sincerity in Patrick’s eyes. “You like me back.”

“Yeah. I’m afraid I do.” Patrick laughs and ruffles Jonny’s hair, “I’m probably not supposed to tell you this, but whatever. Can’t have you mope around all day because-”

Any other words get cut off by Jonny, impulsively, overwhelmed and high on the fact that holy shit his crush likes him back, pressing his mouth onto Patrick’s. If there was any space in Jonny’s head left that isn’t focussed on what Patrick just told him he would worry about the fact that he has literally no idea what he’s doing, that kissing him is probably pretty damn bad for Patrick, because Jonny has no clue what he’s supposed to do with his hands or if he should use tongue (how do you even use tongue) or what the general game plan for kissing is but for the moment simply pressing his and Patrick’s lips together is enough, it’s perfect. _Because Patrick likes him back._

 

***

 

**_ July 2007 Jonny is 19, Patrick is 18 _ **

The evening before the last day of prospect camp (and how the fuck did the week just get away from Jonny? He could swear it has been Sunday yesterday) Patrick doesn’t show up for dinner with the guys. He doesn’t cancel, he doesn’t tell anyone why or where he’s going instead, he just doesn’t show up. The others mostly shrug it off, some mumbling about it being not cool of Patrick and shit but Jonny is pretty sure that Patrick isn’t skipping dinner on purpose. In fact Jonny and Patrick have talked about maybe sneaking in a little TV time before going but when Jonny has returned from his shower, their shared room had been empty, Patrick nowhere to be found. All that has been left has been the pile of clothes in the middle of the room, coincidently the exact same clothes Patrick has had been wearing all day. So, no, Jonny isn’t just pretty sure that Patrick hasn’t skipped, he _knows_ Patrick travelled so it’s up to Jonny to come up with an alibi for Patrick and so he does. He tells them that Patrick hasn’t been feeling too good after lunch so a bit of rest and only light food would be probably for the best. He tries to not go overboard with the excuse, he needs to make it believable but not so bad that someone sends the trainers on Patrick to take care of his supposed illness. It’s a balance act but Jonny is pretty confident he has pulled it off because none of the guys ask too many questions except telling Jonny to give Patrick their “Best wishes” and all that. But not before making good natured fun of Patrick’s apparent delicate digestive system.

Jonny just smiles a long and focusses on enjoying the company, trying to commit as much to memory about those guys as he can. Not all of them are going to make the team. Most of them actually and the thought is a small damper on the whole experience but that’s competitive hockey and as much as Jonny likes them, these boys are his competition and given the choice, well, Jonny wouldn’t have gotten where he is if he didn’t know how to prioritize himself. Occasionally his thoughts wander to Patrick though. The longer the dinner drags on the more frequently it happens, because Jonny has hoped that maybe Patrick would show up halfway through, having returned in one piece from whenever he has been, because sometimes it’s only a few minutes or half an hour that Patrick travels. As a kid, as the one that was being visited, Jonny had hated that, had wished Patrick would stay longer, that he wouldn’t leave so soon again. A couple of hours has felt like a gift. One time Patrick even stayed a whole day and that has had been like Christmas and Easter all together, but now Jonny is on the other end of things and every minute that Patrick is gone drags on endlessly. Jonny doesn’t want to think about it, but what if Patrick isn’t back before tomorrow? What if he misses practice? What then? What is Jonny going to tell people? And what if that ruins Patrick’s chances?

It makes him feel a little nauseous, but in the end there’s nothing Jonny can do, except waiting and hoping that Patrick will be back soon. One of the more fucked up things about the whole time travel affair, one that Jonny hasn’t quite wrapped his head around yet, is that for Patrick, time moves differently when he travels as well, on top of everything. Waiting for Patrick an hour doesn’t necessarily equal Patrick spending one hour in another time. Sometimes, future-Patrick has explained once, sometimes one hour in the present means five for Patrick in the past, sometimes he’s gone for a blink but the present has moved on another 30 minutes. It’s disorienting and confusing and Jonny honestly doesn’t get how Patrick deals with it.

When Jonny returns to the room he shares with Patrick that night he hopes against all odds that maybe Patrick will be there, safe and sound, lying on his bed and grinning at Jonny, asking how the dinner went and making up some story to account for his disappearance that Jonny will see through in an instant because he knows and that, that will be the perfect opportunity to tell Patrick just that, but of course the room Jonny walks into is empty.

Jonny sighs and picks up the clothes Patrick has left behind, folding them and placing them neatly on the bed before putting Patrick’s wallet and phone on the pile as well. The shirt Patrick wears to bed, a London Knights shirt, is lying on the ground too because apparently Patrick is kind of a slob, which is actually something Jonny didn’t know, because, well, he has never seen Patrick in his own space, his own environment. The Patrick Jonny meets appears with nothing but his own body, so there isn’t really much for him to make a mess with. Jonny picks up the shirt as well, holding on to the fabric for a moment. He contemplates how much of a weirdo he would be for smelling the shirt but then decides to do it anyway because no one needs to know and he isn’t hurting anyone either. And it’s been so long since he’s been with Patrick, his Patrick. It’s been over two months, since Patrick visited Jonny and Jonny is missing him fiercely. It’s not the longest stretch of time Jonny hasn’t seen him. There’s been that 11 months period when Jonny had been seventeen right after they had had sex for the first time. Still, two months seem like forever and having Patrick in his time, but not having him be his, that isn’t helping. In fact Jonny thinks, it might be making the longing worse. So he allows himself to smell the shirt, taking in Patrick’s scent that is still there, even underneath the unfamiliar smell of this Patrick’s deodorant and detergent. It’s not the same but it helps, if only for a moment. Then Jonny drops the shirt to the floor again, because despite the initial alleviation it only makes Patrick’s absence feel more pronounced.

Jonny gets ready for bed, hyper aware of every sound and noise, unsure if he hopes for it or not. Patrick appearing naked somewhere and having to make his way back to his room and/or acquiring clothes on the way there is likely to stir a turmoil if he gets caught and if that happens Jonny needs to be there for Patrick, maybe help make up some lie about a bet or something. He hopes though that if Patrick jumps back somewhere other than their room, which is very likely, that he manages to sneak back without being seen, so he’s spared the embarrassment. When Jonny has brushed his teeth, has changed into the boxer shorts he wears to bed, Patrick still isn’t back and it has almost been four hours now.

It shouldn’t be so much different from when Patrick has been out and about with the guys, while Jonny has went to bed early, but for some reason it is, so Jonny feels restless and he gets up twice before forcing himself to stay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling above him. Another half an hour passes until Jonny sighs and switches his bedside lamp on, rubbing one hand over his face. Sleep seems further away than it has when he first tried lying down. He sits up and reaches under his bed for his backpack to pull out his wallet.

There, folded neatly and tugged away, is what Jonny considers his probably most prized possession. It’s a wrinkly, piece of paper, torn and taped back together in parts and generally in an awful condition but just running his fingers over the familiar material has a soothing effect on Jonny.

It’s a list, a list that first started when Jonny had been 5 years old. When Patrick had come visit for the third time he had sat Jonny down and helped him jut down a couple of future dates. They are faded now and a bit smudged, written in blue crayon in the beginning, partially in Jonny’s scrawly unpractised letters and then Patrick’s neater, smoother writing, adding to them, and then Jonny again, with a real pen, a bit surer with every line.

They are the dates of Patrick’s visits that future Patricks have told Jonny beforehand, sometimes with a more or less vague time frame added to it. It’s a chronique of the best days in Jonny’s life, starting 1993 and leading up to Patrick’s last visit two months ago. When Patrick has made Jonny write that last date down ten years ago, Jonny had frowned asking Patrick with a wobbly voice what it meant that it was the “last date”. If that meant that Patrick wouldn’t come to see him anymore because he didn’t like him anymore or if something has happened to him or Jonny or if Patrick was going to tell him the other dates some other time. It hadn’t occurred to him back then that the list stopped because the next time Jonny would see Patrick would be for real, would be present time Patrick. Future Patrick has never told Jonny that. He’s also never told him if meeting Patrick in the present meant that the visits would stop, that maybe by some cosmic law of time travel soulmates or whatever Jonny was only ever allowed to have one Patrick around and since he had the real one now, future Patrick would have to travel somewhere else. Jonny doesn’t know and letting his fingers ghost over the last of 189 dates makes the question feel only more imminent.

He misses Patrick so much.

Coincidently that is when present day Patrick decides to make his appearance, slipping through the door, staring at Jonny like a deer caught in headlights when he sees Jonny staring at him, obviously not having expected Jonny to still be up.

“Uh,” Patrick says, scratching his head, “Hi.”

He’s wearing a light blue bathrobe and Jonny doesn’t even want to know where he stole that one from, but otherwise he looks alright, cheeks a bit flushed, probably from running or embarrassment. It’s hard to tell.

“Hi,” Jonny says flatly, “I told the guys you weren’t feeling well after lunch.”

Patrick looks a little taken aback, probably from the fact that Jonny isn’t asking where he has been and just flat out lied for him, but apparently the answer to the question ‘why’ isn’t as pressing for Patrick because he just nods, rolls with it and mumbles thanks before snatching his pyjamas and disappearing into the bathroom for a good 10 minutes.

Jonny guesses wearing some strangers bathrobe isn’t exactly anyone’s idea of a good time, so he can sort of relate, even though he has never been and never plans to be, in that sort of situation.

“What is that?” Patrick asks when he comes back pointing to the list Jonny is still holding in his hand. He’s chewing on some energy-bar and Jonny has honestly no idea where he has summoned that from but apparently travelling is an energy consuming business plus Patrick has missed dinner.

Patrick plops down on Jonny’s bed and tries to sneak a casual glance when Jonny doesn’t immediately provide an answer, which okay, rude.

“It’s a list.” Jonny says, raising his eyebrows.

Patrick makes an unsatisfied grunt, gesturing for Jonny to elaborate, “I can see that. A list of what, dude?”

Jonny just glares at him, making a point out of folding the list into a neat little square so Patrick can’t take another peek without literally ripping the paper from Jonny’s hand.

Which, ironically, is exactly what Patrick’s next move is. Patrick throws himself forward causing Jonny to fall backwards and then Patrick is on top of him, thighs bracketing Jonny’s waist, prying the list out of Jonny’s grasp, a shit eating grin on his face and Jonny is just-

Patrick is on top of him, this is Patrick’s body, against his, Patrick touching him, Patrick with him. On his bed. Okay. It catches up with him with a few seconds delay that Patrick just used this manoeuvre and Jonny’s surprise to take the list. From Jonny. Patrick is holding the list. Jonny’s list. Oh. Oh fuck. Oh god. Motherfucker.

“Ha!” Patrick calls out gleefully and jumps off Jonny and off the bed, triumphantly holding up his prize, the list secure in his grip and out of Jonny’s reach.

“What the fuck!” Jonny exclaims and follows Patrick suit, tackling him with his whole body mass, which has them stumbling backwards, now pretty much half on Patrick’s bed and half on the ground. “Give it back, asshole.”

Patrick only responds with a choked off laugh, breathlessly trying to free himself from Jonny by wiggling out of his grip without giving up his unrightfully acquired loot in form of Jonny’s list. To Jonny’s shame he actually manages, he’s an agile little fucker, Patrick, fast and on top of that he plays dirty, not above hair pulling and pinching so the height and weight Jonny has on him gets him exactly nothing, which for one strikes Jonny’s competitive streak, but also makes his stomach turn because now Patrick makes quick work of unfolding the list, still breathless, cheeks read and mouth stretched into a smile.

“Chill.” He says, probably feeling Jonny’s stare on him, “It’s just a bunch of dates, man? What even…?” he shoots Jonny an irritated and mildly disappointed look, “I thought it was something cool. I don’t know, chicks you dated or whatever. Or like hockey. What is this?”

“It’s private.” Jonny bites, getting up too and rubbing the spot on his arm where Patrick just pinched him. Fucking _pinched_ what the fuck. Who even does that? “That’s what it is, so give it back.”

“Jeez, okay. Whatever, man.” Patrick rolls his eyes, shrugging and holding out the list for Jonny to take, “You know you should really do something about that stick up your ass.”

And that’s- That’s basically just a variation of what Jonny has heard mumbled behind his back or in open chirps for years. Jonny being all serious, Jonny being uptight and no fun and even though Jonny knows that the guys mostly mean it in a light and good hearted way, no real malice behind it, it does kind of bother him, because he _is_ fun. Sure, he is serious about certain things and doesn’t like to be messed with but that doesn’t mean he isn’t fun and Patrick, his Patrick has always gotten that. Jonny always has had that security, always this sort of safety net with him that has kept it from hurting too much when the things people said about him had hit a little too close to home. Because he always had that certitude of Patrick liking him anyway, Patrick liking Jonny’s eccentricity, getting his humour underneath the layers of discipline and dedication that have gotten Jonny where he is today. Patrick had liked Jonny anyway and that has been something Jonny has relied on for years, so hearing words like this from Patrick, not in a friendly chirp way but in an annoyed, pissed off kinda tone, that makes Jonny’s stomach twist and somehow he finds himself taking a step forward.

“We’ve met.” He says quickly, quietly, “Before.”

“Yeah I know.” Patrick throws him a glance over his shoulder, sitting down and reaching for a water bottle that Jonny is pretty sure is his, “Worlds U17 2005 and WJC, right? And that summer in Philly, but I don’t think you’ve ever spoken a word to me there so.”

He takes a gulp out of the bottle before screwing the lid back on and tossing it onto Jonny’s bed. Jonny thinks if this was anyone but Patrick it would probably bother him, this blatant ignorance of personal boundaries but as it is he barely bats an eye.

“Yes.” Jonny nods, standing a bit awkwardly in the middle of the room while Patrick stretches out on his bed. “And 2000 and 01. But we didn’t really meet then. Not really. I mean... What I mean is that… we’ve met _before_.”

Patrick squints his eyes at Jonny, clearly still operating with a major lack of comprehension, “Oookay?”

Jonny takes a deep breath and decides to just go for it. All or nothing, this is it.

“The first time I met you I was five years old and you were thirty-five and you appeared naked in my backyard.” Jonny says, focussing all his attention on a speck of dirt on the wall right behind Patrick, next to his ear, the air getting stuck in his lungs, “When I say we have met before I’m saying that we have met before because you are a time traveller, and for some reason you keep travelling back to me. I’m saying, that I’ve known you my whole life and you are my best friend and I know it sounds crazy but-”

Suddenly Patrick is hugging him. Jonny doesn’t know when he has moved, when he has gotten up from the bed but suddenly his arms are around Jonny; his face pressed into Jonny’s neck and sure they’ve hugged before during practice because hey playing hockey is a physical and an emotional sport but this, this is just Patrick and him and those are Patrick’s hands on Jonny’s back and Patrick’s hair tickling Jonny’ chin and suddenly breathing is difficult for an entirely different reason.

“Holy shit,” Patrick whispers breathlessly, pulling back a little to lock eyes with Jonny, “Holy shit, Jonny, you _know_. You fucking know.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says and the look of utter amazement and relief and surprise on Patrick’s face is something Jonny doesn’t think he’d ever grow tired of.

“You know about me. About my…” Patrick takes a step back, running a hand through his hair and while Jonny mourns the loss of proximity, the bright smile on Patrick’s face almost makes up for it. “About my thing. And you are my- You know and you don’t think I’m a freak? And you are… you are my friend? I’ve got a best friend?”

_I’m so much more,_ Jonny thinks, _I’m gonna be so much more._ What he says is “Yes.” Shrugging and smiling at Patrick in return, feeling slightly lightheaded, because that look on Patrick’s face, that look of disbelief and wonder and happiness, that’s just for him, just for Jonny. And for the moment that’s enough.

“I’ve never-”

“I know,” Jonny says and this time it’s him wrapping Patrick up in a hug.

Patrick never has had anyone except his family who has known about his travelling, he’s told Jonny that once. Jonny knows that Patrick’s parents know from the story of how Patrick travelled the first time, five years old and scaring his mother half to death when he had suddenly vanished into thin air out of the car while she had been loading in the groceries. He isn’t sure about Patrick’s sisters, mostly because until present Patrick has told him about them, Jacqueline, Jessica, and Erica, Jonny hasn’t even known that Patrick has sisters. He has wanted to ask if they are travellers too (Patrick’s parents aren’t) but up until now that question hasn’t been an option. But now, now everything seems like an option, because Patrick knows that Jonny knows, he knows that Jonny is important to him. He knows that they mean something to each other, that they have history. And while that’s not all, not nearly all Jonny wants him to know it’s not nothing either. And most importantly to Patrick it’s a lot.

 

***

 

**_ October 2007 _ **

When you are a kid, making friends is, for the most time or rather for most kids, pretty easy. Jonny has watched it happen countless of times for Jonny’s brother David when they were young. Kids just walk up to other kids and ask ‘do you want to be friends’ and then, then they just are. David has a best friend named Nikolaj that he had met on the playground when he had been six and Jonny had been eight and to this days they have remained friends.

At some point it stops though, this simplicity, this honesty and sincerity with which kids experience their day to day life, how they act and how they treat others. Kids turn into teenagers and teenagers into adults and at some point they just stop, and things stop being that simple and while it has never been simple for Jonny, at least not in the way he has seen it in his peers, he does notice it, which makes it even more incredible when for the first time it _does_ happen for him. He is nineteen years old and he tells Patrick Kane that they are best friends. He doesn’t ask, he _tells_ and Patrick says yes nevertheless and from that moment on they are.

Prospect camp ends and they both make the team. They make the team. Of course Jonny had had his contract signed before he went to UND but still, he’s on the roster, he’s gonna play, at some point this season he’s going to play and Patrick, his present time best friend Patrick will be there with him, and it feels like a fucking dream and half the time Jonny still thinks he’s going to wake up and realize it has all just been a very vivid hallucination conjured up by his brain after the concussion he has struggled with for over a month at age eleven. But then he wakes up and there’s a message from Patrick on his phone, some nonsensical update on his day or just an obnoxious comment about whatever Patrick deems interesting enough to annoy Jonny with and that, that is new for Jonny. Patrick isn’t just a flicker on his screen anymore, he’s not appearing in erratic intervals, coming and leaving and missing. No he’s there, he’s a constant, and he’s… a lot. Patrick is a lot to handle, has so much energy and he’s not holding back and he’s never backing down.

Because that’s another thing, even though Jonny is used to him and Patrick fighting all the time it’s different with this present time Patrick because he seems ready to go 24/7 and sometimes their conversation, in person or in text are just one long argument that can stretch for days on end and sometimes it’s pretty fucking annoying because Jonny doesn’t just want the best buddy slash competitive douchey asshole Patrick, he wants his boyfriend Patrick, he wants to be able to kiss him when he’s tired of fighting, he wants to see the affection and fondness in Patrick’s eyes when he’s yelling at Jonny about how he drives him insane. He wants it both but preseason rolls around and then it’s the 4th of October and Patrick is set to play his first ever NHL game, the first game of the season, _their_ rookie season, an away game in Minnesota, and nothing has changed. Patrick is here, Patrick is with Jonny, Patrick is playing on the same team, more or less permanently inhabits the same time as Jonny and yet Jonny is still lonely. And he’s never said another word to clue Patrick in on the nature of their relationship, because he has made a promise to future Patrick.

Patrick has told him again and again that when him and Jonny finally meet (always obnoxiously secretive about when and how) present Patrick would need time to catch up, that Jonny needed to let things happen, unfold and not force something that wasn’t meant to happen yet, because while he would get there eventually Jonny couldn’t and shouldn’t expect too much. He has reminded Jonny that Jonny’s got years and years of a head start when it comes to their relationship and while attraction at first sight might be a thing, love doesn’t work that way. Rationally Jonny gets that, but it’s so so hard and the fact that makes it worse, makes it even harder to bear is that future Patrick has yet to make his first post-meeting-present-Patrick-appearance (if he’s going to return to Jonny at all) all while the actual present Patrick exists in this semi-permanent state, playing awesome hockey, being a great friend to Jonny and still having a girlfriend.

Jonny has moved in with Brent Seabrook, has made the offered up guest bed room into _his_ room and he has to admit that while he’s felt a little weird about moving in with his more experienced and older (if only by 4 years) teammate because Jonny hates the idea of being dependant and a burden to someone, it _is_ pretty nice. He thinks the tradition of having rookies live with older teammates or other people involved with the franchise, is a good thing, he doesn’t want to think what some guys, he pointedly doesn’t think about Patrick, would get up to if left to their own devices. Jonny himself would probably be somewhat fine (or at least he would like to think so) but it is still nice. Also because Seabs is a pretty good guy, serious but caring and fun in all the right ways. He’s also the one who talks with Jonny through the loss against Minnesota.

Because they do lose. Jonny doesn’t play, isn’t even in the line-up but Patrick is. It’s the fucking first game and they lose and Jonny feels it like a check to the boards. He knows the loss is not on him, of course it’s not he hasn’t even touched the ice but it still feels so personal and the quickly blinked away tears in Patrick’s eyes when he walks off the ice of his first NHL game without a point to show for, they feel personal too. And Jonny’s first instinct is too talk the game through with Patrick, but Patrick doesn’t want to talk to Jonny, Patrick apparently wants to get drunk and be a dick and do god knows what, because he sure as hell doesn’t tell Jonny, in fact he opts for giving Jonny and everyone else the cold shoulder for the rest of the night and Jonny doesn’t get it. He just doesn’t get it.

Him and Patrick, future Patrick, they used to talk tough losses through all the time, whenever Patrick showed up shortly after Jonny had to overcome a tough loss or just a bad game in general, Patrick had sat down and went through the game with Jonny, moment by moment, play by play. Now Jonny is sitting on the couch with Seabs, having him nod along to Jonny’s thoughts and reasons and ideas but it’s just not the same and half way through the conversation Jonny gets the feeling that Seabs is doing this more for Jonny than himself, that he is taking care of his rookie and not doing this because he feels the need to, because it helps _him_ and Jonny shuts up pretty quickly after that. He doesn’t want to be a burden or an obligation. He knows he can be insufferable about losses, about hockey in general, he’s been told before that he’s too intense and while Jonny gets that to some extent he also doesn’t because this is the fucking NHL, this is his team and he just wants to do good, himself and the team and Patrick.

The next day at practice, after Chicago has managed to scrape a hard fought shootout win against the Wings at home, when they are sitting together on the bench listening to the coach yelling about their powerplay Patrick leans over and nudges Jonny’s shoulder with his.

“Yo.” He whispers.

“Yo?” Jonny says back a little irritated. While he’s by now sort of used to eighteen years old Patrick having a sort of frat boy vocabulary at times, it’s still a little off putting.

“He’s going to let you play next game.” Patrick grins widely, nudging Jonny again as if Jonny isn’t already paying full attention to him instead of to the coach.

Jonny shrugs. He’s told Patrick how much he’s itching to play, how much he wants to make something happen for the team, how he thinks he could if they just gave him a chance, so he appreciates Patrick trying to be positive, especially after the last few days of Patrick being pretty busy with himself, but Jonny doesn’t want to get his hopes up either. He’ll get his chance, eventually, he’s sure of that and if that takes a while, he might grit his teeth but he’s not going to be too hung up about it. He can’t afford that, he’s stressed enough as it is, the pressure, from himself, the league, it’s starting to affect him. He had barely kept his dinner down yesterday.

“Maybe, yeah.” Jonny agrees nevertheless, turning away to refocus his attention on what is being said, but Patrick doesn’t let up, this time opts for an elbow into Jonny’s ribs.

Jonny glares at him, “The fuck, Kaner?” he asks, using the nickname the team has started to use for Patrick even though it feels a little foreign on Jonny’s tongue. But Patrick seems to like it, prefers it over Sharpy’s obnoxiously mocking and yet affectionate ‘Peekaboo’.

“He’s going to let you play next game.” Patrick repeats, blue eyes wide and focussed only on Jonny, “Against the Sharks. You _are_ going to play.”

“What are you-” Jonny is half way through the question when Patrick’s words suddenly catch up to him and his mouth falls open in a surprised but soundless ‘Oh’. Patrick grins.

“You…” Jonny licks his lips, ignoring the hammering of his heart the best he can, “You saw?”

“Yeah.” Patrick nods, “I saw. Or, well… I didn’t see see but-” he lowers his voice even more so he’s pretty much whispering into Jonny’s ear, words that are only for him, only for Jonny, “Last night I travelled a couple of days into the future and I was in my room, at Stan’s and I was super bored because I couldn’t go out obviously and the me of that time wasn’t around either so I switched on the TV and of course I watched some hockey shit and then they were talking about how you’ve been announced to be in the line-up for the upcoming game and-”

“You-“ Jonny gapes at him, feeling a little steamrolled by Patrick talking about this so easily, like it’s completely normal, when it really really is not, “You aren’t supposed to tell me that.” Jonny says.

Patrick pulls a face, “What, says who?”

“Says _you_.” Jonny is still staring at him. There are rules, rules Patrick taught Jonny, rules Patrick has insisted on and rules Jonny hates but believes Patrick when he says they are there for a reason. It’s not good to know too much about the future. It’s one of Patrick’s go-to phrases, “It’s spoilers. It’s… because of free will and the experience of the present and-”

“Bullshit.” Patrick shrugs, “It’s my life, my future, my fucked up genes, might as well get something good out of it.”

“But-”

“Oh my god, Jonny, I just told you that you are going to play your first NHL game. In like 3 days. Be fucking excited, dude.” Patrick honestly looks a little offended.

Jonny swallows drily, eyes darting back to coach who by some miracle hasn’t noticed him and Patrick pretty much not paying any attention to him, and then back to Patrick. This is new, this is- interesting. This Patrick doesn’t care about the rules, doesn’t know about them yet it appears, it’s something he must have established over the years then and not a fixed set of rules he started out with. Jonny isn’t quite sure what to do with that. If he asked this Patrick anything, he would answer? He would tell Jonny things? Fuck he just told Jonny a major fucking thing like it’s nothing and he-

“I didn’t know you travel to the future.” Jonny mumbles, because he _didn’t._ As far as he knows Patrick only ever goes back, but obviously that has been an incorrect assumption to make and suddenly Jonny isn’t sure if he came to that conclusion himself or if Patrick has lied to him. Except that Patrick has promised that he would never lie to Jonny. He would not always tell him everything but he would never ever lie. Jonny has trusted in that all his life.

“I don’t,” Patrick says waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, “Not very often at least, or like, if I do I don’t always know it’s the future unless I like see a date or like end up in an area where I can spot change that went in…” he moves his hand in a forward motion, “you know, _that_ direction. So, like it’s fucking ballers when I do. Gotta see how I end up, right? Better than being visited at least.”

“So…” Jonny says, carefully choosing his words, “What else do you know… about the future?”

_The future. His future. Their future, together him and Jonny._

“Not that much,” Patrick is looking at Jonny like he’s honestly disappointed in himself for having to admit that, “Like, I think I stay in Chicago? For at least a couple of years? There was a condo that I travelled to and I think it was mine? There was a picture of Erica, Jess and Jackie, they looked so grown up, on a sideboard and like an awesome view on the Chicago skyline, and…”

“And?” Jonny asks under his breath. It’s almost impossible to concentrate on anything but the words coming from Patrick’s mouth the way his tongue darts out just a little, the glimmer in his eyes, the way he rubs his chin and seems so excited to be able to tell someone about his time travel experiences. And Jonny soaks it up like he’s been dying for it. Which he kinda has. So.

“And it felt like home.” Patrick ends and he seems a little flustered, “I wasn’t there for long, like maybe a couple of minutes, but… yeah. It was home. Chicago is home. Or like… it’s gonna be.”

Chicago. And Chicago means the Blackhawks. And that being Patrick’s future, that means it’s Jonny’s future too. Home. Their home. Jonny smiles.

“Well then.” He says, furrowing his brow in grim determination, turning back to their coach.

“What?” Patrick laughs under his breath, but he too moves to face the same direction as Jonny, “What ‘well then’?”

“If this is going to be home…” Jonny says lowly, without looking at Patrick, “We gotta fill this place up, Kaner.” Jonny says, “The UC, you and I, the ‘Hawks, we are going to do it.”

“Did future me say that?” Patrick asks after a moment and at that Jonny shoots him a quick glance, he seems thoughtful. Jonny shakes his head. “C’mon, did he tell you?” Patrick inquires.

“No.” Jonny says, “I say that.”

The grin he gets from Patrick in return is wider and brighter than Jonny has ever seen it on him. Putting that smile on Patrick’s face, it feels like winning, maybe even better. Jonny just knows that he wants to be the cause for it more often.

“Hell’s yeah.” Patrick exclaims giving Jonny a fist bump. “We are going to fucking do it.”

Jonny smiles, “Let’s start next game.”

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this second chapter. Please consider elaving a comment because you know.... it makes the writer happy and provides motivation <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out kids. There' smut in this chapter.

 

 

**_ Jonny is 9 and Patrick is 27 _ **

“Pat?” Jonny asks as he’s methodically unlacing his skates, careful to not have them tangle up like they sometimes do when he doesn’t pay enough attention.

“Mh?” Patrick hums as a response, already finished getting out of the ratty skates Jonny managed to hide here in the woods for him. They’ve been skating for what has felt like hours and Jonny has loved every second of it, because Patrick is so good and he shows Jonny amazing things that he can show off at practice the next time and it’s so much fun to just be able to spend time with his friend like this, doing something that Jonny enjoys more than anything. But now Jonny’s legs are all wobbly and he’s a little bit tired too and also hungry. Patrick always seems to be able to tell when Jonny is pushing himself too hard and this time hasn’t been any different so against Jonny’s protests Patrick has declared skating over for today under the pretence of being tired himself. He doesn’t look tired. A little cold maybe because even though Jonny has tried his best to scrape together a suitable winter outfit for Patrick and hide it here, he can only steal so much from his dad and he doesn’t get enough pocket money to buy winter gear that’s actually suitable for the Winnipeg winter.

Jonny puts on his boots and glances at Patrick.

“What do you do?” he asks eventually after gathering enough courage. Patrick shoots him an amused look. They start walking, leaving the self-made rink behind. Walking helps against the cold and the trees keep away some of the cutting winds so it doesn’t really matter that they don’t have a particular direction or destination to walk to. Patrick says it’s a good cool down, slow walking, allowing a smooth transition from exercise back to a steady state of rest for the muscles or something. Sometimes Patrick says smart things and while Jonny doesn’t always understand everything he trusts his friend to know best.

When Jonny had been younger Patrick had always taken Jonny’s hand during those walks and Jonny had liked that. He doesn’t like his mom taking him by the hand anymore when they are out somewhere, like in the mall last week when she didn’t want him to get lost in the crowd. He doesn’t think though he’d mind it as much if Patrick would do it now though, but maybe Patrick thinks Jonny is too old for that now.

“What do you mean?” Patrick asks, smiling curiously.

A twig snaps under Jonny’s feet, the sound muffled by the thick layer of snow. He looks up at Patrick, “As your job. My dad’s an electrician and my mom works for the credit union. What do you do?”

“Why are you asking?” Patrick tilts his head.

Jonny huffs. He hates it when people do that, asking a question back instead of simply answering. It’s pretty annoying, even when it’s Patrick who’s doing it.

“Because.”

Patrick chuckles a little at that, slinging one arm around Jonny’s shoulders and tugging him into his side, “You know I can’t tell you things like that, Jonny.”

He gives Jonny a pointed look and even though Jonny’s first instinct is to growl at him he opts for raising his chin and clenching his jaw, “Why not?” he asks even though he knows the answer.

A smug grin flashes across Patrick’s lips and he sticks his tongue out a little, “Because.” He says receiving a punch in the arm and a glare from Jonny in return.

“Ey!” Patrick exclaims pulling a half affronted half amused face, “You are a little brat did anyone ever tell you that, Jonathan _Toez_? Jesus.”

Jonny scrunches up his nose at Patrick mispronouncing his last name, he does that sometimes, gets a weird sort of kick out of it apparently and it only seems to strengthen his amusement when Jonny complains about it. Usually Jonny talks French to him in return but right now he feels more like sulking. And glaring at Patrick of course. Other kids don’t like it when he glares but it always makes Patrick eyes crinkle with a smile and while that may be sort of contra productive to Jonny expressing his anger it’s also an instinctive reaction, because making Patrick smile feels awesome.

Patrick sighs, moving his hand to adjust the _Jets_ toque Jonny is wearing. Another thing that annoys him when his mom does it but with Patrick it’s alright, “I can’t tell you what I do, because knowing too much about the future isn’t good, Jonny. For you or anyone.”

“How would you know?” Jonny argues, “You never tell me anything. It might be fine.”

“Fine, mhm.” Patrick stops to lean against a tree trunk, one where him and Jonny had carved in a J and P and something that Jonny wanted to be a hockey stick but somehow ended up just looking like a sort of wonky line. “So if I told you that –and I’m not saying I am- but let’s say I am a… I don’t know… a car sales person in, uh, Michigan. Yeah let’s go with that, assuming I told you that, could you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t find some excuse to drag your poor mom and dad to every car sales center in the state of Michigan that you somehow catch wind off? You wouldn’t sneak on some bus and make a road trip to try to find me? Tell me you wouldn’t do that.”

Jonny blushes, it’s not like he thought Patrick has forgotten all the hours Jonny has tried to get information out of him, little hints so he could guess how and when they would finally meet. If only Jonny knew enough, maybe then he could find Patrick a little sooner and they could be friends for real, without Patrick always disappearing. That would be nice. “I wouldn’t.” Jonny says stubbornly. Patrick just raises an eyebrow at him. “Fine,” Jonny grumbles looking down to the footprints they left in the snow behind them, “But maybe that’s how we meet, though? Me finding you because you give me a clue. Maybe that is what’s meant to happen.” He glances at Patrick hopefully but Patrick’s eyes don’t meet his, he looks far away for a second and when he does glance back at Jonny he looks a little sad even though he is pretty good at masking that.

“It’s not.” He says, “Sorry, Little Jonny.”

Jonny bites the inside of his cheek, shrugging, because Patrick knows. If Patrick says that’s how it is there is not much Jonny can do about it. Which sucks, but it’s not actually why Jonny has started his questioning. There’s something else that he’s been chewing on for a couple of days and now Patrick is here, like the list promised he would be, so Jonny could talk it through with him. He still feels a little reluctant though.

Of course Patrick senses that.

“Why do you want to know what I do? Hm? Never asked me that before now that I think of it.”

Jonny sighs, “We talked about careers in class this week. What we wanted to be when we grow up and stuff. We had to do presentations.”

“Exciting,” Patrick comments and he looks seriously interested, “So what did you say you wanted to be? What was your presentation about?”

Instead of answering Jonny scrapes some snow of his boot with his other foot, carefully avoiding to look at Patrick because his cheeks are flush again and that has nothing to do with the cold. He’s still a little embarrassed from that day in class. He hasn’t cried about it, because Jonny is almost a teenager now and teenagers don’t cry about this stuff, but it has been a close call. He shrugs again.

“Jonny…” He nudges Jonny’s foot with his own. Patrick is good at coaxing things out of Jonny. He doesn’t get as frustrated as Jonny’s mom who often just throws her hands up at Jonny’s hemming and hawing. Patrick never lets up, he’s annoying but in a way that makes Jonny feel like he genuinely cares.

“I said I wanted to be a hockey player.” Jonny admits, “Like, in the NHL, you know? And that I wanted to win gold for Canada. At Worlds. And maybe the Olympics too…” His voice trails off until the last words are just mumbled into his scarf. Jonny stuffs his hands in the pockets of his anorak.

“That’s amazing, Jonny.” Patrick grins, “I bet your presentation was the f- the _very_ best.”

Jonny flushes even more at that, shaking his head slowly, “My teacher said I’m not good enough. That I should think of something realistic.”

Patrick’s reaction is immediate. “What a fucking asshole,” he spits, staring at Jonny. He looks really mad, doesn’t even apologize for accidently swearing in front of Jonny. He does most of the time when he remembers that Jonny is still a child and he has to be responsible or something. Jonny insists every time that he’s pretty much grown up and knows all the swear words anyway, but Patrick is kind of adamant about that, except when he’s really angry. Like now. “Screw what he says, Jonny. Did he ever see you play? No.”

Jonny looks down, worrying on his lip again. He’s not sure if Mr. Fournier has ever seen him play or what he knows about Hockey anyway, but he’s Jonny’s teacher and you are supposed to listen to teachers because they are smart grownups who teach you things so they must know best, right? At least that is what Jonny’s mom has always told him, when he got home angry from school because he hasn’t agreed with the teachers on whatever the topic had been that day. But Patrick is a grownup too and Patrick is smart and Jonny’s friend and while Jonny thinks that sometimes grownups don’t know best he’s still torn between what to think and who to believe. He just knows that having his teacher call Jonny’s dream stupid has hurt a lot and having Patrick outraged on his behalf is a special sort of comfort that makes Jonny feel all warm despite the snowflakes melting on his cheeks.

“He’s said that statistically-” Jonny mumbles, but Patrick’s hand on his shoulder, Patrick crouching down in front of him so Jonny is the one looking down to meet Patrick’s eyes for once, cuts him off.

“Statistically my ass. Fuck it, Jonny.” Patrick says fiercely, eyes filled with fiery determination, “Don’t listen to that guy. He knows shit. You hear me?”

Jonny swallows, it feels good to have Patrick believe in him like this and Jonny wants to believe to and he does, kind of, but there is still so much doubt he’s feeling and what if- what if Patrick is only saying this so Jonny won’t be sad? Or what if Patrick really does believe and Jonny ends up disappointing him?

“But what if I’m really not good enough?” Jonny whispers feeling incredibly small even though he was grown so much in the past few months his mom has said, “What if I’m…”

“Jonny,” Patrick says earnestly, “Do _you_ think you can do it? Play hockey for a living, get in the NHL, the Olympics, all that? Do you think you can be good enough?”

“I did.” Jonny answers truthfully trying to not sound as miserable as he feels admitting that, “But I’m just a kid and all the boys from my team want to be NHL players and they probably think they can do it too and we can’t all- I mean- And Mr. Fournier said-”

He stops when he feels a burning hot tear roll down his cheek, uses his sleeve to wipe it away. He hates this, he’s such a crybaby, the kids at school were right. He’s nine why does this keep happening? And now in front of Patrick too.

“Jonathan listen to me,” Patrick takes Jonny’s face in his hands, gently, the fabric of his gloves cold against Jonny’s skin, “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that your dreams aren’t valid. If you think you can do something, if there is something you want, then you fight for it. You work for it, you give it your everything and don’t give a shit about the people that tell you you can’t, okay?”

“But what if I’m wrong?” Jonny’s lip is wobbling and it makes the words difficult to understand because Jonny has to breath somehow and stop himself from crying at the same time and that’s really hard and- “What if I try and then I really can’t do it and Mr. Fournier is right and I’m not good enough. What if-”

Suddenly Patrick’s arms are around him and Jonny’s face is pressed into his chest and there are hands rubbing up and down his back, holding Jonny so close he can almost feel Patrick’s warmth through all the layers of winter clothing. Jonny lets out a sob, defeated. At least when Patrick’s hugging him like this, he won’t see Jonny’s tears even if he can hear his sniffles.

“Then you’ll figure that out too.” Patrick whispers, voice just a low rumble that Jonny can feel against his skin, “I know you, Jonny. You always get back up on your feet no matter what. You are stubborn like that. I bet you already got a back-up plan anyway, don’t you, Jonny? Something you’d do besides hockey? Hm?” he leans back a little so he can look at Jonny, there’s a soft smile on his face that makes Jonny feel a little bit less bad about crying in front of him.

“I think I’d be a teacher.” He says after a moment, “But not for little kids because they are annoying. And I’d be nice.”

Patrick squeezes Jonny’s shoulder, “You would be. And I think you’d be an amazing teacher.”

That gives Jonny an idea. “Am I?” he asks, squinting his eyes at Patrick “In the future? A teacher?”

Patrick laughs at that, “Like I’m gonna tell you that, you sneaky little bast- You trickster.”

“Not a trickster,” Jonny grumbles, it was worth a shot though, “I bet you really are a car sales person in Michigan. A bad one. Not selling any cars ever because you don’t tell anyone anything useful. Ever.”

“Nope.” Patrick answers, popping the p and grinning from ear to ear. “No cars, buddy.”

“Are you a doctor then?” Jonny muses. Patrick knows a lot about muscles and stuff, has showed Jonny how to do stretches and when Jonny had been sick he has told Jonny what foods he should tell his mom to buy that have good vitamins or something.

But Patrick lets out a laugh again, shaking his head, “No. I’m not smart enough for that.”

Jonny scowls, “I think you are smart.”

“Ah, I’m flattered Jonny, really. You are very cute.” Patrick says as he stands up, groaning a bit like adults sometimes do when they’ve crouched for too long. He wraps his arm around Jonny’s shoulders again, “C’mon we need to get you back. Your mom is gonna come looking for you at some point.”

Jonny sighs softly but lets Patrick push him forward, it’s getting pretty dark and Patrick is right. Jonny can’t stay out here for much longer alone. He isn’t alone, but his parents aren’t allowed to know that.

“Are _you_ a teacher?” Jonny asks after a moment, Patrick is good with kids, or well, he is with Jonny anyway, “Or… a policeman?” The dad of one of David’s friends is a policeman and David thinks that is very cool. Patrick is cool too, so maybe that’s it.

“No and no.”

Jonny sighs, “I think it’s unfair that you know what’s going to happen and I don’t.”

Patrick is quiet for a few steps, he’s got that thoughtful expression on his face and his tongue is darting out every time he opens his mouth and Jonny thinks he is going to say something but he doesn’t.

“I know it’s not fair.” Patrick settles for eventually, “A lot of things about this aren’t. And I’m sorry about that. I really am, Jonny.”

And he does look sorry. A little sad too and Jonny doesn’t know what to do with that.

“I’m not mad at you.” Jonny says, “I know you can’t help it, right? The travelling I mean.” The rules too, probably, even though in a different way. They are Patrick’s rules but sometimes when Jonny asks things and Patrick can’t answer he looks down right pained about that and Jonny thinks he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t have a good reason to.

“No.” Patrick agrees quietly.

“It just happens?”

“Yeah.” Patrick sounds sad, so Jonny shrugs off Patrick’s arm which has Patrick turn his head at him in confusion but then Jonny takes Patrick’s hand in his and the start of a smile begins to tug at the corner of Patrick’s mouth. Jonny thinks this is okay, him taking Patrick’s hand to comfort Patrick. It’s not Jonny being a little kid, it’s him being a good friend. It’s okay.

“I know you say it sucks sometimes,” Jonny says, “But it’s not all bad, right? We get to be friends because of it.”

Besides, time travel sounds pretty damn cool. Except the turning up naked thing. Jonny doesn’t think he would like that very much.

“You think we wouldn’t have become friends if I hadn’t showed up naked in your backyard when you were _this_ tall?” Patrick holds his free hand the height of his knee and Jonny boxes him in the side for that, but it’s good to hear him chuckle at that.

“How would I know?” Jonny says, because he doesn’t know. He likes to think so, but he’s not the one with all the information. That’s Patrick.

“You are right, Little Jonny.” Patrick says softly, “About it not being all bad. Spending time with you is pretty damn awesome.” He grins and Jonny does too in return, “But I have to leave future you and that sucks because I miss him a lot. When I come here to you it’s okay, because I get… I get more time with you. But sometimes I jump somewhere else and that’s pretty sucky.”

Jonny looks at Patrick, “I think future me misses you a lot too, when you are gone.” They are almost back at the self-made rink and the sky is dipping into a darker shade of grey, the setting sun only breaking here and there through the clouds, “Because I always miss you too. But I’m glad you are my friend, Pat. I don’t-”

When Jonny doesn’t continue Patrick stops, turning to look at him.

“I don’t have a lot of friends.” Jonny admits, “Other kids don’t like me.” He doesn’t mean to say that he’s only glad Patrick is his friend because he doesn’t have any other options. Patrick is awesome and he would be Jonny’s best friend even if Jonny had a hundred friends. Thankfully Patrick doesn’t seem to take it that way, he just tilts his head a little, like he does when he sort of gets what Jonny is saying but wants him to elaborate.

“How do you know that?” Patrick questions, “You are very likeable, Jonny.”

Jonny shrugs, “They say I’m weird.”

“You kind of are.” Patrick replies with a shrug himself and only when Jonny stops abruptly, giving him a look of hurt and betrayal, he backpedals quickly, “But! Hey Jonny, look at me. There’s a but. I mean that your weird isn’t a bad weird? You are great Jonny, in fact you are my favourite person and being weird doesn’t mean not being likeable. You know?”

“I’m your favourite person?” Jonny frowns a little, “You promise?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve told you we are best friends, now and in the future.”

Patrick has told him that. Jonny remembers and of course Patrick is Jonny’s best friend, but just because Patrick is Jonny’s best friend doesn’t mean he is Patrick’s best friend too. Patrick probably has got tons of friends where he’s coming from and Jonny isn’t sure how he’s supposed to compete with that.

“I did tell you that before, right?” Patrick seems genuinely unsure for a moment. It’s confusing sometimes for Jonny and apparently Patrick as well, that Patrick doesn’t really experience these visits in the same order Jonny does. When Jonny had been eight years old he had told Patrick about a math test he had been nervous about and when the next Patrick had showed up two weeks later Jonny had been mad at him for not asking about the test. Now Jonny knows that the Patrick he had told about being nervous had been 35 years old while the Patrick he had gotten mad at had been 25 and thus hadn’t been told about the math test yet.

“You did tell me.” He replies, “But I think sometimes you just say things to make me feel better.”

“Would that be so wrong?” Patrick asks.

Jonny nods, “If you are lying to me then yes.”

“Mhm.” Patrick rubs his chin, the huff of breath he lets out is visible in the cold air surrounding them, “Good thing then that I don’t lie to you, Jonny.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I’ve never lied to mini-you.” Patrick says with utter sincerity in his voice, but there’s a shadow on his face that Jonny doesn’t like at all, “I don’t- I can’t promise that that your-time-me… he’s… I can’t make any promises for him though.”

“But you are him.” Jonny points out.

Patrick doesn’t say anything for a while, then: “It’s not that simple.”

Jonny really wishes it was.

 

***

 

**_ October 2007 Jonny is 19, Patrick is 18 and 28 _ **

Jonny is in the kitchen. He’s been staring into Seabs’s open fridge for about 4 minutes now and while he is dimly aware of the fact that leaving the door open this long is not exactly advisable, his inability to figure out what to make for dinner tonight is a strong counter argument. He’s not picky, usually, but lately… well, he knows they’ve got some brown rice left and Jonny’s stomach has seemed to agree with that when they have had it yesterday, but Seabs didn’t liked it that much and Jonny guesses if Seabs provides him with a room to sleep in and mentoring the least he can do is cook something the guy actually likes. Jonny will just have to suck it up. He’s never has had problems like this and it’s honestly getting a little annoying.

He scowls angrily at the contents of the fridge for another moment and then lets the door fall shut with a slightly exasperated sigh, still nowhere near close to a solution for the dinner problem. Thankfully Seabs doesn’t comment on Jonny’s angry staring contest with the fridge. He’s on the phone with Duncs, has been for the past half an hour, which Jonny finds sort of astonishing because usually Duncs is more of the quiet type and Seabs isn’t talking nearly enough to be the solo carrier of this phone call, but then again Duncs and Seabs, they are something else.

When there’s suddenly the sound of knocking Jonny looks at Seabs in confusion, finding his own expression mirrored on his face. They aren’t expecting company and all their friends would announce themselves via phone before dropping by. Except Patrick maybe, who has a tendency for just strolling into places like he belongs there, but who, coincidentally today, can’t be the one responsible for the knocking in question since his girlfriend is visiting. Which Jonny knows since Patrick has sent him far too many texts explaining how exactly he’s planning to spend his day off and visiting Jonny has not been part of said plans (Jonny would also very much like about a gallon of bleach for his brain, thank you very much). It also can’t be someone they don’t know, the doorman would have given them a ring. A neighbour? Maybe, but unlikely. Ever since Jonny moved in here he hasn’t had any contact with Seabs’s neighbours. A fact he has been quite thankful for.

Seabs gives him a look, gesturing for the hallway and in extension the door. Whoever is at their door, they are still knocking. Jonny glares at Seabs, Seabs just half shrugs pointing at the phone pressed to his ear, looking not the slightest bit sorry that Jonny is the one having to open the door and deal with whoever is so persistently hammering against it. What a dick. It’s his place. His name is on the damn door-bell panel. Not Jonny’s.

Jonny pats to the door barefoot, not bothering to peek through the peephole, a little too pissed off by now and ready to tell that person, that clearly doesn’t know when enough is enough, that literally nothing could be important enough for two straight minutes of knocking. He yanks the door open, mouth already open and-

-sees Patrick.

There is in fact Patrick at his door. Future Patrick, broader and a little bit taller than the Patrick Jonny has gotten to know over the past few months, with longer hair, the slightest hint of stubble on his chin and- a busted lip and a relieved smile.

Jonny gapes at him.

“Hey, Jonnyyy, Jonathan, Tazer, JT, my dear most favourite Canadian in the entire world! Hello,” Patrick, grabs him by the shoulders in a somewhat weird greeting, and in the process drops the… -blanket? -drape? -whatever he has had slung around his body in a make shift dress-toga and suddenly Jonny is standing in Seabs’s doorway with an armful of naked future Patrick, that is hugging him and nuzzling his neck like he too has missed Jonny for months.

It takes Jonny’s brain a second to catch up but once he realizes that this is Patrick, his _boyfriend_ Patrick, he’s almost overwhelmed with how incredibly relieved and over the moon he feels at finally being able to hug Patrick like this again, touch him, like this, not having to control himself, being mindful of everything that his relationship with Patrick isn’t yet instead of what they are, what they have and that, that is this. Patrick kisses Jonny then, softly and only for half a moment but it’s worth so much to Jonny. He wonders when the day will finally come that he will have this, admittedly preferably not in Seab’s condo, but this, having Patrick come home to him, kissing him, a peck on the lips, like this is something they do, just a hello, an everyday thing. He wants it so much it’s ridiculous.

“Patrick,” Jonny breathes, only barely refraining from touching his lips where Patrick has just kissed him. Patrick is shooting him a smile as he tugs up his drape-thingie again with as much grace as the situation allows, which is not much, and oh, yeah, he’s naked. And they are in a hallway. Right.

“Fuck, Patrick, What the-”Jonny cuts himself off half way on the road to mild freak out, because him starting to yell now is very likely to attract Seabs and then Jonny will have some explaining to do and he would really really like to avoid that so he needs to regain some sort of composure. He would also really like to keep kissing Patrick though, and the sight of Patrick giving him a lopsided grin as he stands there basically unclothed, an image Jonny has jerked off to since he was thirteen years old, it’s not helping Jonny _think_. “Fuck, Pat, Seabs is here! This is- What are you even wearing and what happened to your lip and-”

“Jonny,” Patrick places a hand on the nape of Jonny’s neck, just a soft touch, but somehow it’s helping Jonny feel more grounded, a bit less like he’s about to have a mental melt down over this situation. Fuck he smuggled future Patrick into his room with his parents in the house for heated making out sessions and had freaked out less, and he was only fifteen then, “Don’t you want to invite your favourite time traveller _inside_ before starting the interrogation? Give me some politeness or at least a _maple syup sure is the best, eh_ , you imposter.”

Jonny wants to argue on instinct, sadly though, Patrick is sort of right, the longer they keep having this conversation in the doorway the higher the risk of getting caught becomes, so is Patrick not making the slightest attempt of keeping his voice down and Jonny would call him out on that, but that would lead to raised volume from his side and well…

He ushers Patrick through the door quickly, pulling it shut behind them before carefully peeking around the corner into the living room kitchen area where Seabs is still on the phone, talking about god knows what. He’s got his back to them, leaning over the breakfast bar where he’s got his laptop open. They could probably not hope for a more favourable set up so Jonny shoots Patrick a quick glance, trying to assess how likely it is for them to not fuck this up. Patrick has an amused smile on his face as he’s observing Jonny scouting the situation, but seems idly calm and unconcerned and Jonny would very much like to punch that smug expression off his face, or kiss it away, or whatever. This is Patrick’s secret for god’s sake it should be in his interest to not get caught ten years too old for this time, half-dressed strolling through a living room he has no business being in. And yet, probably too annoy Jonny Patrick doesn’t even try to seem fazed. Not exactly promising.

When it comes down to it, however, sneaking through the room as fast as possible but as slow as necessary, Patrick does take it seriously at least, never more than a step behind Jonny and more quiet than Jonny would have expected him to. Patrick is such an attention drawing person, here in the present as well as his future-selves, but Jonny guesses being tossed through time and into countless of potentially dangerous situations, it forces you to pick up on some skills. Apparently being sneaky as fuck when needed is one of them.

As soon as they are in Jonny’s room, Patrick fishes a pair of boxer shorts from Jonny’s closet and throws himself on the bed like he doesn’t have a care in the world while Jonny contemplates whether or not he’s mad at Patrick or if the happiness to see him after so long is once again the stronger emotion.

“What if Seabs had answered the door?” is what Jonny settles for, giving Patrick a hopefully equally disapproving as relieved look. Because Jonny _is_ relieved. So incredibly relieved. Patrick is here and he hasn’t stopped visiting Jonny, whatever rules this time travel thing obeys, Jonny is still allowed to have his Patrick and that feels like a miracle right in this moment. Patrick is his miracle. And if his miracle just happens to be reckless and annoyingly carefree, well, Jonny will just have to deal. He sinks down on the bed next to Patrick slowly, letting his legs dangle off the edge, but looking at Patrick, who looks… he looks good. Always does. Despite the busted lip (Jonny hopes it’s from hockey not some time travel trouble, like when Patrick got beat up by a group of guys who caught him trying to steal clothes that one time). It’s actually sort of hot, but Jonny is not about to admit that to Patrick or anyone.

Patrick just shrugs, “He didn’t. At least I was moderately sure that Seabsie never mentioned a strangely old looking me demanding entrance into his condo, so I figured I’d be good. Besides, I wanted to see you and I wasn’t that much into the idea of chilling half dressed in this buildings boiler room for any longer than strictly necessary.”

“ _Moderately_ sure?” Jonny stares at him, “Seriously, Patrick?” in moments like this it’s not hard to believe that the boy Jonny spends day after day training with and the guy he fell in love with as a teenager are the same person.

“Are you mad at me?” Patrick laughs and makes grabby hands for Jonny, managing to hook his fingers into the sleeve of Jonny’s shirt, which wouldn’t give him much leverage to pull Jonny down if Jonny didn’t go so willingly, letting Patrick pull him down into another soft kiss, one that lingers though, sweet with a hint of more, a promise, an apology, “I wanted to see you, Little Jonny. You still live with Seabs and look at your face… You can’t be older than nineteen. God, sometimes I forget how young we were…” he kisses Jonny again, cupping his jaw with one hand, the other still fisted into his shirt.

“What if Seabs comes in?” Jonny mumbles, letting Patrick kiss him, his hands moving on instinct, one finding its way into Patrick’s curls. He can already feel heat spreading under his skin at Patrick’s touch. The feeling of being wanted by Patrick, it’s nothing Jonny will ever be able to describe, it’s just- it makes him feel raw in the most incredible way. Wanting, being wanted back, finding the same longing and desire in Patrick’s blue eyes that Jonny is feeling every time he looks at Patrick when he’s sure no one else is watching, it feels like coming up for air after months underwater.

Patrick chuckles, biting his lip. “He doesn’t.” he says, moving to push Jonny flat on his back, one hand on his sternum, a strong powerful presence, and Jonny doesn’t even try to hide the shudder that goes through him when Patrick’s next move is to straddle Jonny’s hips, and oh, okay. There is Patrick on top of him, grinning down at him, wearing nothing but Jonny’s boxers, chest just the slightest bit flushed and his curls dishevelled from Jonny’s hands and he’s grinding his ass down on Jonny’s groin and that- Jonny’s dick is very interested in that and the threat of Seabs possibly walking in seems very far away all of sudden. Just like everything else.

“I’m pretty sure, that if Seabs had ever caught us fucking, you or him would have mentioned it to me at some point, don’t you agree?” Patrick rolls his hips in a way that could not be described as anything less than practiced, making Jonny groan and his hands fly up to Patrick’s hips. His brain takes a moment to process the words. It’s been months since he’s been touched by someone else than his own hand and it’s been months of waiting and then, then watching, listening to Patrick talking about his girlfriend, Patrick giving him bro hugs, Patrick buddying up with the other guys, making friends so easily and-

Jonny swallows, there are things he’s feeling apart from lust and want and love for Patrick. He’s mad at him. Sort of. Not this Patrick per se, but the entity that is Patrick Kane in general. It’s weird. It’s confusing. But suddenly his head feels a little clearer.

“So we are having sex now?” Jonny gets out, managing for a moment to not rub his now more than half way hard cock against Patrick, “Presumptuous.”

“Oh is it?” Patrick grins, leaning down to lick into Jonny’s mouth and well, that tongue of Patrick’s it’s been a recurring star in Jonny’s dreams since forever and every time they do this, every time he gets to have Patrick like this, it sends sparks through his whole body. He doesn’t think he’d ever grow tired of Patrick kissing him, except that when Patrick pulls back after kissing Jonny hungrily long enough for Jonny to be panting breathlessly into his mouth, Patrick does that other thing that his criminally attractive mouth is good for. And that is talking.

“Presumptuous?” He murmurs against the skin of Jonny’s neck, his wet lips brushing over the spot right underneath Jonny’s ear that he knows drives him insane, “You want to tell me that you aren’t literally gagging for it, Jonny? Mhm?” Jonny whimpers, clawing his fingers into Patrick’s naked thighs his hips bucking up on their own accord, chasing the friction of Patrick on top of him. “That you aren’t gagging for me? For my cock? For me making you-”

Several things happen in quick succession next. There’s a knock on Jonny’s room door, there’s Jonny panicking, somehow managing to kick Patrick in the side and Patrick diving off the bed as gracelessly as expected the same moment that Seabs opens the door before Jonny has answered his knock and what the fuck, it’s like living with his parents again.

“Hey Jonny, I was won-” Seabs starts sounding perfectly unconcerned until he looks up from his phone (probably texting Duncs, those co-dependant fuckers) and finds Jonny staring at him probably even more intensely than usually, eyes wide and jaw clenched tight and also a pillow pressed into his lap, presumably doing a not so successful job of hiding his boner. The fact that he’s flushed down his neck and his hair is sticking up is probably not helping his case. At least Patrick seems to have managed to hide behind the bed without getting spotted, which in itself counts as a win.

Seabs lets out a sort of choked off laugh but otherwise doesn’t comment.

“What?” Jonny bites out, trying hard to not sound too rude, but also get Seabs to fuck off again as quickly as possible.

“I just wanted to ask who was at the door?” Seabs shrugs, giving the room a quick once over, before looking back at Jonny, “I thought I heard Kaner’s voice, but…?”

“It was just uhm…” Right, the knocking. Jonny should have probably figured out an excuse for that, “Wrong door.” Seabs stares at him. Jonny stares back.

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

“You are a weird one, Tazer. Anyone ever tell you that?” Seabs shakes his head, but his smile is soft and his expression is somewhere between fond and bewildered and well, Jonny will take that if it’s what’s being offered. The nickname, Tazer, he’s not sure what he thinks about it so far. The guys have been trying it out, saying it fits him because of his glare or something. Jonny doesn’t quite get it, but if the team gets the kicks out of it so what? He’s had worse nicknames over the years.

“Anyway,” Seabs continues, scratching his head. Jonny mentally starts a prayer for Patrick to not start any shit, because while this Patrick is technically a grown up, you never know with him. He might get bored and since he doesn’t seem to take the whole ‘Seabs might catch us’ thing that seriously Jonny really doesn’t want this conversation to go on any longer than it strictly has to, “So, me and Duncs are gonna go to lunch to that new place he wanted to try. Want to come?”

“No.” Jonny answers, probably a little too quickly and he can feel himself turning even redder at the quizzical look Seabs gives him in return, “I mean… I’m- I’m good. Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Seabs snorts, “Have… fun.”

Then he’s gone and Jonny lets himself fall back, groaning into his hands. He either wants to die or kill Patrick. Either would be acceptable for this situation Patrick just put him through, “ _What if Seabs comes in?”_ Jonny says in a high-pitched version of his own voice, then answers himself, mimicking Patrick in a mockingly deep tone, _“Don’t worry Jonny. I’m pretty sure you or Seabs would have told me. Hahaha moderately sure haha let’s have sex.”_

He can hear Patrick cackling from where he’s still lying on the floor. He sounds a bit like a dying chicken. If Jonny wasn’t feeling so utterly mortified he’d probably be laughing too.

“He didn’t though!” Patrick wheezes, eventually emerging from the ground and crawling back onto the bed, grinning brightly at Jonny, “He didn’t technically catch us. So. I stand by what I said.”

“You know,” Jonny turns to glare at Patrick, “I am fluent in two languages and yet I will forever remain incapable of finding a constellation of words that adequately expresses just how much I want to smother you with a pillow right now. You knew this would happen! And now Seabs probably thinks I turned him and Duncs down so I could _masturbate_.”

“There is nothing wrong with masturbation, Jonny,” Patrick points out, putting on a grave expression as he moves to pat Jonny’s head, but Jonny swats his hand away.

“This is not funny.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, “It’s kind of is and I mean…perhaps… you told me at some point…that something like this happens but-” he shrugs in a way that seems to convey something along the lines of ‘eh whatcha gonna do’ and ‘this was hilarious and I enjoy to see you suffer’. Although that might just be Jonny’s interpretation. His boner is mostly history by now.

“I fucking hate you, Patrick.” Jonny exhales deeply, letting the pillow he no longer needs for his lap fall onto Patrick’s face, who however manages to bring his arms up in defence at the last moment, somehow sensing what Jonny is going to do even though he has had his eyes closed for the moment.

“I have it from safe sources that you really really don’t.” Patrick grins goofily.

“Fuck your sources.” Jonny tells him.

Patrick snorts, “I’m sure trying to.”

Jonny decides to hit him with the pillow again. This time Patrick isn’t fast enough.

“Come on, Jonny!” Patrick shrieks trying and succeeding to fight the pillow off on the third hit, knocking it off the bed out of reach in the process, “Where are your dudly-do right Canadian manners! I’m a guest in your bed and time! I demand respect and-”

“You are a pain in the ass, that’s what you are.” Jonny retorts and regrets it the second the words are out because Patrick does this obnoxious little eyebrow wiggle and Jonny honestly can’t believe that he’s the one barely out of his teens.

“Aww c’mere, Jonny,” Patrick says, a little softer now, his eye crinkling into a smile, poking Jonny in the thigh with his naked toe, “Do you not miss me anymore? Now that you have your own me?”

Jonny stops Patrick mid poke, wrapping his hand around Patrick’s ankle. His _own_ Patrick. What a joke. Patrick knows, must know, just like he knew about Seabs coming in, that Jonny doesn’t _have_ his own Patrick, because the Patrick of this time, he’s Jonny’s friend. Nothing more. He isn’t-

“Of course, I miss you.” Jonny says, quietly, rubbing his thumb in soft circles, “It’s been months. I haven’t seen you since before the draft.”

“Well I’m here now…” Patrick shifts closer, pressing a kiss to Jonny’s shoulder, “…so what’s the hold up?”

There’s a part of Jonny, a big and vocal part, which is asking the very same question. Patrick is here, Patrick is willing, Patrick wants Jonny, loves him, and they could be having sex right now instead of talking, but there’s another part too and that part is used to be coaxed out of his shell by Patrick, Patrick poking him until he spits out what’s bothering him. He’s hotwired to response to Patrick in an emotional and physical way and the crucial part about it is that talking to Patrick has always helped, ever since Jonny has been a little kid when his worries were as insignificant as having trouble with tying his shoelaces, Patrick has always made things better for Jonny, has helped him wrap his head around things and figuring shit out for himself. That part wants to talk not fuck. _Because_ Patrick is right here, after months. This is Jonny’s chance.

Jonny doesn’t remember when, but at some point he has started to think of his relationship with Patrick as a long-distance relationship. Sure it’s not as much miles that separate them, that sort of distance would be crossable, but time, insuperable and uncrossable, but the term still fits for the most part. The missing and waiting and being lonely. Jonny can relate to that. He can’t however, just call Patrick, skype him, face time or text. Not even an email. When Patrick is gone he is gone and there is no trace left of him, he doesn’t leave anything behind. Except Jonny.

So Jonny can’t just call his boyfriend when he needs to talk about something, when he’s upset and in need of support. He doesn’t get to do that, so he bottles those things up, tries and often fails to deal with them on his own and sometimes when Patrick does show up, it just spills, like knocking over a cup filled to the brim.

It feels a little like that now.

“You don’t like me.” Jonny says and Patrick’s eyes snap up, staring at Jonny like Jonny just outed himself as a member of the Modern flat Earth societies.

“What are you talking about? I love you.”

“Yeah _you_.” Jonny agrees, because he does believe Patrick loves him, he knows it with a burning sincerity that he’s carried with him for years. As much it hurts, as much he misses Patrick and as hard as this relationship has been for Jonny at times, it’s also a privilege. Jonny gets to wake up every morning, go to sleep every night, knowing that he is loved, that he will be loved. He got to grow up, go through the turmoil that is teenage life in high school that is growing up, with the unshakeable certainty of having someone that is meant for him, someone he is meant for and someone he will be happy with. One day. He knows a lot of people believe in finding their one true love one day, but believing is different than knowing. Jonny _knows_. But present time Patrick doesn’t. “ _Present you_ doesn’t like me.”

“Jonny, what the fuck. That’s bullshit.” Patrick protests, sitting back so they can look each other in the eyes better.

“It’s not,” Jonny insists, “You don’t like me, I can tell. And I know, I know that a lot of people don’t like me. I’m not instantly charming or amiable. People don’t like me spot on, but I thought-” Jonny hesitates. It’s a little embarrassing, admitting this, but… It’s Patrick. Of course Jonny is going to tell him. “But I thought it would be different…with you. Because, you know, but you- You don’t like me.” Jonny pauses, then adds, clenching his jaw and locking eyes with Patrick, “Not like that. And not like a friend either sometimes.”

Understanding crosses over Patrick’s face like it does sometimes when Patrick, remembers, at least that’s what Jonny thinks, a conversation he had with future Jonny, something future Jonny told him that has had already happened for that Jonny but Patrick has yet to live through.

“I do like you, Jonny.” Patrick tells him, sticking his little finger out a bit wear he’s got his hands spread on the sheets, so it brushes against Jonny’s, “Present me likes you. If I remember correctly, you tell me that we are best friends and then we pretty much are from that moment on. At least from my point of view? I mean sure, you were still massively irritating and kind of lame, but that never really stops so- Ow! You know I love your irritating lameness!” Patrick rubs his arm where Jonny just pinched him. Revenge for that one time in prospect camp, he thinks bitterly.

“Apparently you have a lot of best friends.” Jonny says, ignoring Patrick’s affronted expression. “Like Sam Gagner?” Jonny knows it’s a little childish but the first time he had heard Patrick refer to the guy as his best buddy it has left Jonny with a sinking feeling that has never quite left. “Or-”

A wave of Patrick’s hand cuts him off, “Well yeah. It’s my dazzling personality.”

Jonny glares at him, “Your personality sucks ass.”

Patrick doesn’t even look offended, “Only yours, baby. But that’s beside the point,” he laughs a little but when his eyes return to Jonny his gaze is a little more serious, “Yeah Sam is a good friend. And yes I’ve got a bunch of good friends. But you are still my best. The best of friends, if you will. Even at eighteen, even when we want to murder each other half the time. You _know_ me. You get me on a level no one else does and maybe at times that’s confusing for me, because I don’t get it, I’m not there yet, Jonny, so you gotta be patient with me. Also, you have other best friends as well. So. Don’t be a hypocrite about mini-me. He does a lot of shitty things but having friends? You can’t fault him for that, Jonny.”

“I’m not.” Jonny argues, granted, a little defensively maybe. He’s not mad at Patrick for having other friends apart from Jonny, it’s just that it’s so much easier for Patrick to integrate himself in the team, making friends with the guys. And Jonny is so used to being Patrick’s sole point of attention, because when Patrick travels to him it’s only ever him and Jonny, no one else to take Patrick’s focus off him and Jonny has been thriving of that undivided attention, that feeling of being the center Patrick’s world evolves around for that fleeting moment. It’s embarrassing and also selfish, but Jonny can’t help it, doesn’t mean though he is going to admit it. “And I don’t have other best friends? I mean, sure I’ve got TJ, but…”

TJ is TJ. He’s a good friend and yeah, apart from Patrick probably Jonny’s best. They met at UND, and instantly clicked, hanging out a lot outside of class and Jonny has gotten into his fair share of trouble because of him (Jonny will never forget the hysteric angry scolding of a life time his mother had given him when he has had to tell her about being arrested and sentenced to community service for his drunk adventures with TJ. He will also never ever get that drunk again. He’s learned his lesson, thank you very much).

“But?” Patrick quirks an eyebrow, “Man, you must have noticed how mini-me always gets jealous to hell whenever you talk about him.”

Jonny blinks, “Yeah. I mean… what’s that’s about anyway?”

“Probably my fault to be honest.” Patrick scratches his chin, running his tongue over his busted lip as he looks at Jonny a little sheepishly. “I kind of… Well I think he sense that _I_ am jealous of Broshie. Kid’s kinda got a knack for figuring out when I don’t like someone.”

“Why don’t you like TJ?” Jonny blurts out. This is new. Patrick, future Patrick, he’s not jealous. Jonny knows because he has actively tried making him jealous several times, back when Jonny was a teenager, horny 24/7 with a boyfriend that only appeared for scattered and short visits and when he did he wouldn’t even do all the things Jonny wanted him to, because as Patrick has once put it, they were already skating on moral grey ground as it was. Jonny has told (mostly) made up stories about girls and boys that wanted to be with Jonny, has tried proving to Patrick that he was ready, that he knew what he wanted and that he wanted Patrick. But it had never worked. Patrick had always been so maddeningly serene about it, even encouraging Jonny, telling him to experience life, not missing out on things because he was waiting for Patrick. Has even recommended Jonny to try and date, something Jonny has never followed through on, but still. Patrick doesn’t get jealous, which is why present Patrick’s obvious annoyance when Jonny had told him about his time at UND with TJ has been so off putting, and now future Patrick telling him this? Jonny isn’t sure what to do with that.

Patrick clears his throat, “I don’t… well… Maybe I don’t dislike him per se, although his personality isn’t my favourite thing in the world, but it’s more… Mh… He’s the only other guy you’ve ever been with except me and-”

“Been with?” Jonny objects indignantly, “We kissed. Once!” If Jonny had any brain capacity left for secondary thoughts he’d find it mildly concerning that Patrick seems to dislike TJ’s personality when the similarities between Patrick and TJ’s has had been what has made it so comparably easy for Jonny to befriend TJ. As it is he just stares at Patrick.

Patrick, for once, doesn’t say anything.

“Besides,” Jonny continues, “You are the one who always kept pushing me to making other experiences and not letting opportunities pass up and enjoy my youth and all that shit. You kept telling me that.” It’s not the reason why him and TJ kissed that night, but still.

Patrick sighs, “I know I know. And I stand by that, Jonny.” he reaches out to cup Jonny’s jaw gently. That’s a thing about Patrick, he likes touch, he’s tactile, always establishing contact and Jonny guesses it’s not only because that’s just Patrick’s personality, although that’s a big part of the reason, but also because it grounds him. He’s mentioned something like that, once or twice, touching making it a bit harder to slip away, allowing him a tighter grip on the time he’s experiencing in that moment. It might not even be a conscious thing most of the time. Regardless, Jonny leans into the touch instinctively, seeking the comfort out of it that Patrick’s touch has always held for him. “I take time. It’s not easy loving me and I know what waiting for me to catch up to you does to you. It’s- it’s hard. And it’s not normal and you deserve normal, Jonny. So I would never fault you for… for this. For TJ. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to dislike the thought of my boyfriend being with someone else.”

Jonny, turns his head, not breaking contact, pressing his lips to Patrick’s hand, softly, apologetically. This whole situation isn’t Patrick’s fault. He can’t help it and it’s not fair of Jonny to be mad at him for things he can’t change.

“I don’t want to be with someone else,” Jonny mumbles into Patrick’s palm, kissing it again, letting his lips brush over the calloused yet strangely soft skin. He’s always loved Patrick’s hands.

“I know,” Patrick replies, volume dropping until it’s nothing short of a whisper, “Neither do I, Jonny.”

Jonny parts his lips, the slightest bit, a sliver of tongue brushing against the skin of Patrick’s palm and Patrick tilts his hand, moving it down so Jonny’s mouth is now where his palm meets his fingers. He licks out, a stripe up Patrick’s index finger, not breaking eye contact once while doing so.

Patrick doesn’t look away either, seems as captivated by this as Jonny is. All those years Jonny has tried to make Patrick jealous and all this time Patrick has been, he’s just been good at hiding it. It makes Jonny feel hot on the inside, his skin tingling with this new found knowledge.

Patrick lets out a shaky breath when Jonny, reaches the tip of his finger, pressing his lips to it, before opening them again, just wide enough so the fingertip slips into the wetness of his mouth.

“Fuck, Jonny,” Patrick whispers, “How many times have I fucked you so far?”

A hot shiver goes up Jonny’s spine at that and a small moan escapes him around Patrick’s finger that he’s sucked mostly into his mouth now, using his tongue like he would if this wasn’t just a digit, but Patrick’s cock, thick and hard between Jonny’s lips. Patrick might be the one with the oral fixation but Jonny has realized pretty quickly that that doesn’t just mean Patrick likes to have things in his mouth but he also likes seeing Jonny do and enjoy it.

“Three times.” Jonny answers, pulling off with a pop and licking the moisture off his lips.

Patrick hums in response, eyes tracking the movement of Jonny’s tongue, “Three times, huh? And how many times have you fucked me?”

Jonny makes an involuntary strangled sound and Patrick’s eyes snap up to meet Jonny’s. The corners of his mouth have curled into a smile and oh, of course Patrick knows the answer to that question. He must, right?

“Never.” Jonny says, the flush on his cheeks spreading down his neck, “I’ve never-”

“Would you like to, Jonny?” Patrick murmurs, closing the distance between them in a quick, smooth movement. He crushes their lips together with unexpected hunger, and there is no preamble, no gentle beginning to the kiss this time. It’s tongue and teeth from the start, like Patrick needs to prove something, like he needs to claim Jonny, make him know he is his, make them both know, “I’ve said you’ve been gagging for my cock and you have, haven’t you? I bet you wanted me so bad that you used your own fingers to fill yourself up, rub against your mattress while you imagine it’s me inside you, fucking you, but it hasn’t been enough. Has it Jonny?” Jonny doesn’t know if it’s Patrick’s hot breath on his neck as he moves down to scrape his teeth over the skin there or if it’s his words or a combination of both, that has him let out an embarrassingly high pitched whine, buck his hips up in search of friction that just isn’t there. He’s hard again, achingly so. “And you thought about how you’d get on your hands and knees for me the next time we see each other and here I am, but now-”

Patrick sounds just as breathless as Jonny feels, his hands roaming over Jonny’s chest, toying with the hem of Jonny’s shirt but not slipping underneath, and yet there’s also a gravelly, teasing tone to his words that Jonny can feel resonating in his entire body, making his toes curl.

“But now, you think about how it would be, if it was me, spreading my legs for you, me begging for you to fuck me. Hard and fast and now you can’t decide, can you?” finally Patrick’s fingers begin tugging at Jonny’s shirt and Jonny lifts his arms willingly, allowing himself to be stripped by Patrick, feeling hot all over as his gaze rakes over his body, “Tell me what you want, Jonny.” Patrick continues, “Tell me and you can have it. My cock, my ass, my mouth. It’s your call.”

“Pat-” Jonny whines, squirming as Patrick puts his mouth on his nipple, first kissing and then, nibbling, using his teeth on the sensitive causing the nub to quickly harden while Jonny’s dick twitches in his sweatpants.

“Decisions, decisions. What’s it gonna be, Jonny?” Patrick flicks his tongue out, over Jonny’s nipple, devilish grin on his lips, “Talk to me, baby.” He adds, moving his lips to the other nipple while bringing his hand up to keep teasing the other one and Jonny honestly doesn’t know how Patrick expects him to form any coherent thoughts right ow, let alone form an actual sentence when he’s making those sparks of pleasure shoot through Jonny’s whole body.

“I don’t-” Jonny chokes out between two moans, “I don’t know, I don’t know, Patrick, please-”

“What is it, Jonny?” Patrick coos, leaving a wet trail of kisses down Jonny’s chest until he reaches his navel and dips his tongue in, like the asshole he is. How is Jonny supposed to answer any questions with Patrick doing this to him?

“I don’t know,” Jonny basically sobs, rolling up his hips and finally there is some friction, temporary relief for his rock hard cock, because the way they are lying now, Patrick between Jonny’s spread legs, it allows Jonny to grind up against his sternum and while that would feel even better if Jonny has had the mindfulness to get rid of his pants by now, it’s still enough for Jonny to have to bite down on his lip so he doesn’t moan embarrassingly loud, “Patrick you choose, please you choose. Patrick, c’mon, please.”

“So bossy” Patrick laughs, lips fluttering over Jonny’s stomach in the process and when Patrick looks up the heat and affection in his gaze is almost unbearable, “God, I love you so much Jonny.” He breathes, running one hand through his hair, “Okay, you got skate tomorrow?”

“Wha- Yeah?”

Patrick nods, “Just skate? Or a game? Game day tomorrow?”

Jonny nods jerkily, then, upon realizing that a nod as an answer to an or-question is pretty much useless he adds, “Game day.”

Because it is. Tomorrow is the day. Hawks vs Sharks. And according to present Patrick, Jonny’s first ever NHL game.

“I see.” Patrick licks his lips sitting back on his heels for a moment, “Okay, Jonny here’s another rule you and I have in the future. Not a time travel rule. Just a you and me rule. No one’s ass is getting fucked the day before game days. And since you have a game tomorrow and I don’t…” he leans back in, holding himself up on his arms and the display of power in those muscles has Jonny flush even deeper in arousal. Patrick smirks, letting his lisp brush over Jonny’s, a ghost of a kiss, before continuing, “I think the only rational course of action is if you,” kiss, “fuck,” another kiss, “me.”

“Oh god,” Jonny moans.

Patrick grins, “I told you Patrick is fine.”

Jonny might be on the verge of losing his mind at the prospect of getting to fuck Patrick but he’s still got the presence of mind to whack Patrick over the head with the one pillow he’s got left on his bed.

“So, how do you want me?” Patrick manages to ask moderately seductively when he’s stopped laughing, grinning up at Jonny and wiggling his eyebrows.

“On your back? I think?” Jonny shifts so he can lie next to Patrick and run his fingers through his hair at the same time, “I’d, uhm… like to see your face?”

Patrick blinks up at him, lazily, “What’s with the question marks? You know what you want, Jonny. Just gotta take it.”

He’s right. Patrick is here, in Jonny’s bed, offering and Jonny just needs to have some balls and take it. He wants to, he has imagined this nearly as long as he’s known he wanted Patrick to fuck him. But for some reason it has always felt more natural for Patrick to take charge as he has been more experienced and older. He still is both those things and Jonny would love to get fucked by Patrick but he would also love fucking him and who knows when his next chance for that might be.

“Okay,” Jonny mumbles, more to himself than to Patrick, who’s still looking at him, now running his hand up and down his own stomach in lazy strokes. Jonny can see the tent in his boxers but Patrick makes no move to touch it, no move to even remove the article of clothing. Jonny bites his lip, “You might have to uh give me some pointers, but…” Patrick tilts his head, “…get naked, Pat?”

Patrick raises an eyebrow. Jonny rolls his eyes.

“Get naked. Period.”

Patrick grins and shimmies out of his boxers immediately, his hard cock springing free. Patrick slides his hand down his stomach and wraps it around the base of his shaft without taking his eyes off Jonny once, he strokes himself, once twice and Jonny can see how there’s just the slightest tremor in the muscles of his thighs and a stutter in his breathing and it’s good, so good to see how affected Patrick is by this whole thing, that it’s not just Jonny losing his mind alone over here.

“What now, Jonny?”

Jonny swallows, “Lube,” he answers, tearing his eyes away from where Patrick is pumping his own cock, thumbing the tip and making those perfect little noises, to scramble for his nightstand, where he’s got his lube tugged away.

“That’s right, Jonathan. Gotta open me up. Get me real slick and ready for you.” Patrick says, grinning as Jonny kisses him the second he’s back with the lube in hand, “Although… You won’t need much. Because guess what.”

“What?” Jonny asks, fitting himself on top of Patrick, his hips resting between Patrick’s legs that fall open willingly for Jonny. He grinds his hips down against Patrick’s causing their erections to rub together only separated by his sweatpants. It shouldn’t feel this good, simply humping each other like this, but it is, fuck it is and if Jonny doesn’t catch himself this whole thing is going to be over before it even started.

Patrick grins, but breaks off into a moan when Jonny rolls his hips down, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment, “You don’t need much lube, because…” another shaky breath, then, Patrick’s voice half a whisper half a whine, “Because you already fucked me. This morning. Only been a couple of hours. We woke up and I just wanted you so much, Jonny. Always want you so much and you fuck me so good. You are so grumpy in the mornings but- Fuck, not when I wake you up with my mouth around your dick and then-”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Jonny growls, crushing his lips against Patrick before he can make him come embarrassingly fast with only his words and the rocking of his hips. Waking up in bed with Patrick, having him there, having him want Jonny so much that he can’t wait for Jonny to wake up on his own, it’s a dream. It’s a dream Jonny has been dreaming since forever and one day it’s going to be his reality and as ridiculous as it sounds that thought has Jonny’s dick twitch in his pants almost more than the friction itself.

“Give me a reason to,” Patrick teases, biting Jonny’s bottom lip causing him to groan into the kiss, “Get this show on the road, Jonny. C’mon.” Suddenly there’s the bottle of lube being pressed into Jonny’s palm and when has he even dropped it? It doesn’t matter, not when Patrick is leaning back, spreading his legs even more, looking so at ease and comfortable while bareing himself.

Jonny sits back on his heels, swallowing dryly as he squirts some of the lube onto his fingers. Patrick has always made it look so easy, getting the right amount but either it’s harder than it looks like or Jonny is just nervous because this is way too much lube, fuck, he dripped some on his sweatpants, but these have to go anyway, there’s already a wet patch at the front from both him and Patrick leaking precome.

Patrick giggles a bit but otherwise doesn’t comment as Jonny clears his throat awkwardly and positions himself. He can do this, he’s watched a lot of porn, he’s had Patrick do it to him, has done it to himself. Jonny’s not an idiot and fingering is not that hard, it’s just-

“Hey,” Patrick says, softly, nudging Jonny’s side with his knee, “Relax. Don’t overthink it. Just stick it in.”

“Just stick it in.” Jonny repeats dryly.

“Yeah,” Patrick snorts, “Do it or I’ll do it myse-.”

Jonny cuts him off by completely unceremoniously and quite literally just sticking it in. He presses one lubed up finger into Patrick’s hole and he’s so incredibly glad that the gasp that escapes him at the feeling of having a part of him _inside_ of somebody else’s body, gets swallowed by Patrick moaning at the intrusion. The sound makes Jonny impossibly harder.

“Fuck yes, Jonny,” Patrick pants grinning at Jonny, “Give me another. You know I can take it. You can feel it. You feel how loose I still am, from you? From your cock?”

There is nothing Jonny could possibly say to that that isn’t some sort of embarrassing whine so instead he just complies, adding another finger, because fuck, Patrick is right. Jonny can tell that Patrick has had something inside of him within the last couple of hours, a cock, his fingers, a toy, could have been anything, but Jonny knows, he knows it has been him, this is what Patrick has let Jonny do to his body and now he’s letting him do it again and Jonny can’t help but press a kiss to Patrick’s thigh, pressing his face into the crease where his hip meets his leg, breathing in the scent that is so uniquely Patrick, as he tries to pick up a rhythm for thrusting his fingers into Patrick’s hole.

The angle is a bit difficult, unfamiliar and the way Jonny has to twist his wrist doesn’t come naturally and he has to invest a lot his brain capacity to get it right, but when he finally finally does, Patrick doesn’t just gasp, he almost sobs, arching his back and curling his toes. Jonny smiles to himself, feeling a little proud. When Patrick has fingered Jonny for the first time he had found Jonny’s prostate instantly, hadn’t even have to try, already familiar with Jonny’s body, but Jonny doesn’t have that and he’s been worried of fucking up, of not being able to make Patrick feel this good. Judging by the way Patrick is squirming though, rolling his hips as if to try to get Jonny to hit that spot again, his worries seem to have been quite unnecessary. And the way Patrick’s body reacts might just be the most beautiful thing Jonny has ever seen.

“Good, yes, good, Jonny,” Patrick gasps, “Remember that- try to- Try to hit that spot with your dick.”

“Yeah,” Jonny answers senselessly, pulling his fingers out, trying hard not to get distracted by the noise it makes, wet and slick, the half second Patrick’s hole takes to flutter close after the intrusion is gone. Jonny can’t get out of his pants fast enough.

“Your legs,” Jonny says hoarsely, surprised by the steadiness of his own voice, “Around my waist, yeah?”

Patrick doesn’t answer, not verbally, instead he just hooks his hands under his knees, pulling them back, fully exposing himself to Jonny, even more than before, if that’s even possible. Jonny doesn’t waste any more time. He strokes himself quickly a couple of times, not so much to get himself hard, because he doesn’t remember ever being this hard once in the past months since Patrick’s last visit, but to spread some lube up and down his length.

Patrick watches him through hooded eyes, pupils so blown, the ring of blue barely visible, and with his gaze focussed on that, only on that, Jonny lines up his cock, presses the head against Patrick’s entrance and after a moment, after an almost invisible nod from Patrick, he starts pushing.

He has to stop half way in, has to take a moment to just breathe, to process the feeling of tight slick heat surrounding his cock, the constant unrelenting pressure of Patrick’s body, fuck, he is inside of Patrick, fuck, fuck. It’s overwhelming. It’s too much. Jonny closes his eyes, willing himself to hold back from that edge, not come right this second. He can feel the wave of his orgasm pooling in his stomach and no, no this is not- He won’t come, he won’t come.

“I love you,” Jonny pants, still not moving, “Pat, I love you.”

“Yes,” Patrick answers and his voice sounds positively wrecked and impatient, “Me too. Love you to the moon and back you giant Canadian idiot, now fuck me or kill me because god, your cock-”

Jonny thrusts all the way in in one go until his hips are flush with Patrick’s ass, earning him a guttural groan from the back of Patrick’s throat that Jonny can feel in his entire body. He stills, his chest going in heaving breaths as he wills himself not to come, gritting his teeth. Suddenly there are Patrick’s arms wrapping around him, the fingers of one hand threading through Jonny’s short hair as he’s being pulled down into a kiss. Patrick kisses him without much finesse, just the wet slide of their mouths together and somehow it’s still as amazing as every kiss they share is. Jonny doesn’t move his hips, hasn’t since he’s pushed all the way in, he’s just getting used to the tightness around his cock and while kissing Patrick is distracting, while the feeling of Patrick hard cock, trapped between their bodies is distracting, it’s not enough for Jonny to forget about it, about literally being inside of Patrick.

“Jonny…” Patrick whines, staring at Jonny with wild eyes, when they eventually part for air, “Please.”

“Don’t-“ Jonny , swallows, dropping his forehead to Patrick’s collarbone. He can feel himself trembling. Right there underneath his mouth are scars, surgical scars that the Patrick of Jonny’s time doesn’t have yet. Jonny presses a kiss onto them, “I’m scared I’m gonna- I’m gonna come and it’s gonna be over and I-”

“’s okay, Jonny.” Patrick gets out through ragged breaths. It’s amazing how they can both be so affected when there technically hasn’t been much fucking yet, “You won’t come. Not yet. Gonna make me come first. I know you will. Gotta fuck me for that though. C’mon, make me come on your cock.”

Jonny groans, but slowly, steadily, he begins to move, pulling out a bit and then, after taking in a deep breath he pushes back in and Patrick makes a choked off noise that is accompanied by a something that sounds like half a laugh.

The next thrust is faster and Jonny follows it quickly by another, snapping his hips into Patrick in a pace matching his shallow breathing. Patrick grins sleazily at him, tongue darting out to lick over the swollen part of his lip and for some reason that does it for Jonny, he pulls almost all the way back out until only the head of his dick is left inside, pulling slightly at the tight rim and then he slams back in, somehow miraculously getting the angle just right and hitting Patrick right in the prostate. At least that’s what the choked off cry suggests that the movement tears from Patrick paired with the way his eyes seem to roll back into his head and he arches off the mattress.

“Yes, yes, like that,” he gasps, digging his fingernails into Jonny’s back, “Do that again, do that again.”

So Jonny does, he rolls his hips into Patrick again, fucking into his body with as much strength as he can, feeling the muscles in his thighs and abdomen strain in the best way at the exertion. With every thrust that nails Patrick right into the prostate, Patrick’s breathing gets more ragged, the cling of his body only tighter even though that barely feels possible, but it _is_ and Jonny is sure that if Patrick doesn’t come soon Jonny will prove him wrong and come first, because this heat pooling in Jonny’s stomach it’s just unbearable,. There are waves of pleasure rippling through his whole body, all originating where him and Patrick are joined.

Patrick wraps his legs tighter around Jonny’s waist and it allows Jonny to get a hand between Patrick and the mattress, spanning the plains of his back with his fingers and pressing him upwards, closer, their bodies flush together. He can feel Patrick’s dick twitch between them, where it’s rubbing against Jonny’s stomach, slick with precome and Jonny doesn’t know how Patrick can resists the urge to get a hand on himself but Patrick’s hands are too busy leaving claw marks on Jonny’s back and Patrick, Patrick is clenching around Jonny’s cock, moaning and panting and fuck it’s good that Seabs left for lunch because there is no way he wouldn’t have heard Patrick even if he had been on the very opposite end of the condo.

They can’t kiss anymore, Jonny bringing his mouth back to Patrick results more in a panting into each other’s mouths, occasionally a brush of lips against skin but it’s too uncoordinated, too messy to be described as anything close to kissing. And yet it’s enough, it has Jonny buck up again and again, pushing his cock into Patrick faster and harder and faster and-

Patrick comes with a strangled cry, spilling his come between them and the sheer sensation of Patrick ‘s body clenching down on Jonny’s cock, impossibly tight as his orgasm hits him pushes Jonny right over the edge too.

He collapses on top of Patrick, utterly undignified, unable to catch his breathing, mind completely empty. Patrick’s arms stay around him, after a moment, maybe two, Jonny isn’t sure how much time passes, his hands start moving, running up and down Jonny’s spine and there are kisses, soft and barely there that Patrick presses to Jonny’s shoulder, the side of his face. Jonny becomes dimly aware of the sticky mess between their stomachs and the fact that his softening cock is still inside Patrick but he just can’t will himself to move or even consider what to do about those things. Patrick doesn’t seem particularly inclined to move either, so they just stay like this for another few moments until Jonny starts to feel like there is air going into his lungs again that is actually reaching his brain too.

He tilts his head a little, resting his chin on Patrick’s chest so he can blink up at him. He finds him already looking at Jonny, his gaze so soft and warm it makes Jonny shiver and press another kiss to Patrick’s chest.

“This was good.” Jonny mumbles and Patrick somehow is able to summon up the energy to laugh (how is beyond Jonny).

“Good?” Patrick asks, “This was fucking ballers, Jonny. Can’t believe this was your first time.”

Jonny blushes, hiding his face in Patrick’s chest but that only makes Patrick laugh more, as he’s absentmindedly letting his fingers ghost over Jonny’s neck.

“Jonny.” Patrick says after another few moments pass.

Jonny doesn’t look up, “What?” he just asks.

“You know I love your cock in my ass, but at some point you gotta pull out and maybe get a washcloth. I want to cuddle with you _under_ the blanket and would hate for us to have to put on fresh sheets first.”

Jonny sighs. Patrick’s got a point.

He pulls out slowly and carefully but Patrick still hisses at the sensation. Jonny doesn’t look at his face though, can’t tell if it’s because it hurts or something else, because his gaze is trapped by the sight of Patrick’s hole trying to close around the emptiness Jonny has left behind and the trickle of come, _Jonny’s_ come, leaking out. That sight, it does something to Jonny. He thinks if he made an effort he could be ready to go again pretty quickly. Patrick looks kind of beat though so Jonny gets up, testing out his admittedly only slightly shaky legs and does for Patrick what Patrick has done for him the past three times they were able to go all the way. He gets a washcloth and wipes the come off his and Patrick’s body, blushes a little when he cleans Patrick between his legs, but Patrick is so easy and not at all shy about it, not even flinching or closing his legs, like Jonny usually does instinctively.

“C’mere,” Patrick demands as soon as Jonny is done, tugging the covers over the both of them and snuggling close to Jonny, a smile playing on his lips that makes Jonny wants to kiss him until they are both panting for air again. But instead he just lets Patrick wrap an arm around his shoulders and rests his head against Patrick. They don’t get to do this often, basking in each other’s afterglow. They never really had the time or privacy for it before. Not when Jonny has lived with his parents and surely not during the time in boarding school. Added to that comes the fact that coming, orgasms, it tends to send Patrick travelling, which is well, quite inconvenient, but it does happen, according to Patrick. While he’s fucking he’s basically glued to the present, rooted in time, but as soon as he comes, it’s easy to lose it apparently. It’s not a sure thing, like nothing is with the time travel thing, but it has happened more than once, that Jonny has made Patrick come and Patrick has disappeared almost right after. Which is, honestly, a whole new dimension of bailing on someone after sex. This time it doesn’t seem like Patrick is going to disappear any time soon though so Jonny decides to savor it.

“Patrick?” he begins tentatively eventually breaking the comfortable silence between them. Patrick makes a noncommittal noise to let Jonny know he’s listening. “Today is the 9th of October. Tomorrow is the tenth. 2007.”

“Okay? Uh…” Patrick frowns a little, “The tenth… Mh…”Jonny bites his lip and waits and after a moment Patrick’s face lights up, “Oh!” he grins, “I got it, tomorrow is your first NHL game, isn’t it? Debut time!”

Jonny tries a tentative smile, “Yeah.”

“Are you nervous?” Patrick asks and Jonny shrugs a little, sitting up and brushing his hands over the covers. Patrick sits up too. “Don’t worry too much.” he says pressing a kiss to Jonny’s naked shoulder.

Jonny frowns at him. What kind of shit garbage advice. Don’t worry. Don’t be nervous. Like he wouldn’t if he could. And it’s easy to say for Patrick anyway. He’s already lived through this, he already knows what will happen, if Jonny makes a fool out of himself or if it all works out or how the game ends, how the season plays out, how-

“Save that dead shark eyes glare for someone else, Jonny.” Patrick nudges him with his elbow, “I’m not just saying that because I know what happens or whatever. I mean, I do know, but I would tell you this even if I didn’t. In fact, I’m sure that mini-me has told you something along those lines already, right? You just play your game and don’t worry about anything else, Jonny.”

“ _Don’t worry too much_. What the hell, Patrick?” Jonny shakes his head, “Of course I worry. Of course I’m nervous. I need to… I need to prove myself. This is my chance. I know I’m good but I have to be good enough. I have to-” he groans and buries his face in his hands, “Fuck. Can’t you just tell me that it’ll be alright?”

Patrick is quiet for a few seconds.

“Patrick.”

“…it’ll be alright.” Patrick says somewhat reluctantly, “Whatever happens.”

Of course Patrick won’t tell him. He knows, he fucking knows and that means that he could tell Jonny that he doesn’t have to worry right now, could ease Jonny’s mind with just a few words, but he doesn’t. Unlike present day Patrick this Patrick doesn’t freely share the knowledge he has. He keeps it to himself, locked up, stupid rules in place.

“Hey Jonny…”

“Whatever, Patrick.” Jonny shrugs the hand off Patrick has placed on his arm, “I just want to get it over with. I’m so-” he lets out a breath, glancing at Patrick who is watching him intently, “I’ve never been this nervous I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep…”

Jonny cuts himself off, earning a questioning frown from Patrick.

Jonny sighs, might as well say it now that he’s started. Patrick probably knows it already anyway, “I keep throwing up my food. Yesterday was okay, but the day before that I couldn’t keep down dinner or lunch and that wasn’t the first time, it’s- I never had a nervous stomach, I don’t understand what’s going on with my body, but I can’t keep throwing up almost everything I eat. It’s hard enough as it is to put on weight.”

His shoulders sack in defeat and he looks down on his hand. So far he’s managed to hide what’s going on, from the team and the staff, but he worries that if this keeps happening he’ll lose weight instead of gain it and that means loss of muscle mass and while Jonny isn’t as short and small as Patrick he can’t afford dropping too much either. Plus it might affect his game, the lack of energy due to Jonny’s body refusing to keep down food, he doesn’t know how long he can compensate it without being too obvious. He just hopes it’s due to the stress and pressure, that it’ll get better once he’s got his first game over with.

Something that Jonny recognizes as understanding flashes across Patrick’s face, before a look of consternation mixed with thoughtfulness takes its place. “I didn’t know it started before your debut.” He mumbles, more to himself than to Jonny, but it makes Jonny feel cold all over. He stares at Patrick.

“What do you mean _started_?” Jonny asks, his throat feeling very dry all of sudden, “It doesn’t stop after tomorrow? I keep having it?”

Patrick pulls the face he does when he realizes that he’s given something away without meaning to. He scratches his head, giving Jonny an apologetic look, and fuck that. Jonny doesn’t want an apology he wants answers.

“Babe,” Patrick says carefully, most likely being watchful of every word he says now, “Have you thought about talking about it with the trainers? It’s their job to help you with shit like this.”

Jonny glares at him, “I haven’t even played one real game for them yet, I can’t already be a problem. I can’t just-” Jonny breaks off, horrified upon realizing how shaky his voice has become over the course of those few words. He looks at Patrick helplessly, “I hoped it’d go away on its own when I’m settled in, when this stops being new and starts being normal. Fuck I just want to play hockey. I… Pat, am I sick? Do I _need_ to talk to the trainers?”

Patrick’s face is twisted into a pained expression, lips pressed tightly together and for a few moment he doesn’t look at Jonny at all. “I can’t tell you what you _need_ to do, Jonny. You know that.”

“Fuck that.” Jonny snaps, feeling slightly hysterical. Patrick is scaring him a little, “You told me you and I were in love when I was fourteen fucking years old and now you can’t even tell me what’s wrong with me?”

Patrick closes his eyes. “I’m sorry,” He grits out.

Jonny feels like he is going to choke on the words, all those words he imagines Patrick is not saying, “Do I have cancer?”

Patrick’s eyes snap open. “No,” he says quickly, shaking his head frantically, “No, Jonny, god no. It’s- It’s not cancer. It’s- You’ll figure it out. You will and it’s gonna be alr-”

“Don’t say it’s gonna be alright. Can I still play hockey?” Jonny interrupts him. Despite Patrick giving in, giving him this tiny piece of reassurance Jonny isn’t feeling any less panicked. Right on cue his stomach twists painfully. “Patrick!” Jonny pleads when Patrick doesn’t answer for another few agonizingly long seconds.

“Okay, fuck it.” Something about the way Jonny says it must do it for Patrick, because the resolve on his face is crumbling and he finally opens his mouth, “Okay. Talk to the trainers, Jonny. Be honest with them. And talk to the nutritionists. Make sure they know what’s going on but don’t let them brush you off telling you that it’s just stress. It’s not.” He takes Jonny’s face in both hands, pressing a soft kiss onto his lips, “You’ll figure it out. Just trust yourself. You are the most stubborn intense bastard I know, you don’t let your stomach being a whiny little bitch take hockey away from you.”

Jonny takes a moment just to breathe, inhaling, exhaling, one, two, repeat. Then he looks at Patrick. He feels a little better. Patrick however looks like Jonny just made him take a bite out of the most sour lemon in all of North America. There’s a small tug of guilt in Jonny’s chest.

“Thanks for telling me.” Jonny says quietly.

“Fuck you for making me.” Patrick retorts, but there’s a smile on his lips and the punch he gives Jonny’s arm to emphasize his words is more of a gentle hand to shoulder fist bump than anything else. He’s not really mad, Jonny realizes with relief.

He smiles back sheepishly.

Patrick clicks his tongue, “One of these days we’re gonna disrupt the fabric of the universe or something and it’ll all be due to your stupid questions and-” Jonny shuts him up with a kiss, tasting Patrick’s words on his tongue as he licks into his mouth, when Patrick parts his lips willingly, giving Jonny access.

After a few minutes of making out, only the wet sound of their lips meeting, filling the room, Patrick groans, pulling back a little and resting his forehead against Jonny’s. He smiles. “Jonny, babe, I’d love to go again, believe me I do, but only one of us is still nineteen.”

Jonny pulls back a little, studying Patrick’s face. He does look sort of sorry, but mostly amused and also flattered. What a douche. He lets himself fall back into his pillows.

“Don’t know much about your refractory period at nineteen. Or eighteen rather.” He mumbles, shielding his eyes with his forearms. It only takes a moment before Patrick’s hands appear, tugging at Jonny’s wrists so he can look him in the eyes.

“What?” he asks, clearly confused by what Jonny is getting at, “Are you mad because I can’t get it up again yet? Because I’m deeply sorry Jonny, but my body might have a special pass for the laws of time and space but sadly my dick-”

“Do you know what eighteen years old you is doing right now?” Jonny asks quickly, trying to sound nonchalant but probably failing epically. He doesn’t know why people keep telling him he’s got a monotone going on. Everything he’s feeling seems painfully obvious in the tone of his voice, at least to Jonny himself.

Patrick frowns, “No?”

“Having a girlfriend.” Jonny says pointedly, trying to not let too much jealousy and hurt bleed into the words, “Probably fucking her right now too.” Jonny adds bitterly.

“Oh…” Patrick has the decency to at least blush, pulling a face. “Claire, right?”

“Chloe.” Jonny raises his eyebrows and Patrick winces.

“Yeah…” he says quietly, “Sorry, Jonny.” It’s not about getting the name wrong and Jonny knows it. Patrick knows it too, but it still doesn’t do anything to make it hurt less, knowing that Patrick is with someone else right now, someone that isn’t Jonny and yet she’s so unimportant that ten years later he doesn’t even remember her name.

“You could have told me.” Jonny tells him, “You _should_ have, you know? That you’d already be in love with someone else when I meet you.”

“I’m not _in_ love with her,” Patrick waves his hand like he can say this and be done with it, but Jonny may have managed to ignore this issue long enough to have amazing sex with Patrick, but now it’s back at the forefront of Jonny’s mind. It must show on his face too, because the sorry look is back in Patrick’s eyes and he sighs, “Jonny, I’m already spoilering you to hell and beyond. And I’m not your personal on demand crystal ball.”

“Can you even imagine how much it hurts finally meeting the love of your life and having to watch him be in love with someone else?” Jonny asks, even though he doesn’t really expect an answer. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, that it hurts. He can’t admit it to anyone else, not to Seabs, not to present Patrick or anyone really. Just this Patrick. And this Patrick looks hurt. Only for a moment but he definitely does and Jonny has no idea what to make of that.

“I do actually, Jonny.” Patrick says, “I do know.”

For a moment they just stare at each other, then, just when Jonny is about to open his mouth, ask what the hell Patrick means by that, Patrick gets up, cracking his back and running a hand through his messed up hair. “I’m going to take a shower.” Jonny doesn’t think he’s imagining it that Patrick is keeping his eyes averted on purpose.

Partially due to that, he half expects Patrick to not return. He times it, decides that if the shower runs longer than 15 minutes he’s going to go check and if Patrick is gone turn it off and go on with his life, but 10 minutes later Patrick joins Jonny in the living room. He’s put on one of Jonny’s shirts and a fresh pair of boxers and judging by the scent of his hair he’s also used Jonny’s shampoo. He doesn’t say a word, just tugs himself into Jonny’s side, peeking at the screen of his phone.

Jonny doesn’t say anything either, just tilts the phone a little so Patrick can see better. It’s his text conversation with present Patrick. The last message is a selfie from Patrick that shows him grinning into the camera with a background what looks like tousled sheets. There’s also a bit of naked skin too. A girl’s back, mostly covered by long dark brown hair.

He can see Patrick swallow and shoot a glance at Jonny then back at the picture.

“I’m a douchebag,” he comments and Jonny nods.

“Does she even know you took that picture?” Jonny asks, unsure if he wants an answer or not. It’s not cool to do this sort of shit and if present Patrick has done it anyway…

“Uh, I think I didn’t even mean for her to be in the picture to be honest? “ Patrick says, frowning as he’s evidently trying to recall what his past-self has been thinking on this day that has happened so many years ago for Patrick, “I think I just wanted to send you a selfie of me and she just happened to be in the background. I didn’t even turn the camera noise off and she hears it and gives mini Patrick an earful probably right this second.”

Jonny doesn’t reply, just glances on the picture again. Patrick _does_ send him a lot of selfies for whatever reason, usually with a running commentary of his day on the rare occasions they don’t spend it together anyway.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, “Hey. I’m a douchebag yes. A big one at that age I know that but I’m not- Jesus, I don’t do this kinda shit, okay?”

“Okay,” Jonny swallows, “Okay, yeah. It’s-” _fine_. Except that it’s not, because Jonny doesn’t want any pictures with any girls in the background no matter how accidental their appearance may be. He quickly hits the delete button, and the picture disappears, like it’s never been there in the first place.

“You know,” he says slowly after a moment, turning his phone in his hand, “You know what would have been a good response to that picture?” he glances at Patrick who just shrugs, “If I had sent a picture of us back. You and me. He doesn’t know we fucked but-”

“Jonny,” Patrick interrupts him quickly, “I can safely tell you that that would be an abysmal idea. Trust me.”

Jonny presses his lips together tightly, “We don’t have to send it.” He offers, “Just a picture for me. I wouldn’t show it to anyone. Not even present time you.”

“Jonny…”

“Patrick.”

Patrick sighs and rubs his hands over his face.

“Pat, please.” Jonny repeats stubbornly, “He’s with another girl, right now. _He’s_ with another girl and I’m with you but _you_ are gonna be gone soon and he’s still gonna be with her.”

“God, you are killing me, you know that?” Patrick grumbles into his hands, “This is not a good idea.”

“I get why you never let me take pictures before.” Jonny argues, “We hadn’t met yet and if anyone ever saw the picture there wouldn’t be a rational explanation, but now, now it’s- I could explain, make something up and yeah maybe you look strangely old in the picture but no one is gonna think time travel.”

“Damn. Fine, whatever.” Patrick removes his hands from his face, giving Jonny a disgruntled look, “I want to formally put down for the record, that I, Patrick Kane of the year 2017, do not think this is a good idea. Take the stupid picture.”

Jonny grins and throws an arm around Patrick’s shoulder so he can squash them both into the same frame.

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed this :)  
> Please consider leaving a comment. You know, it keeps the writer motivated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we need all a bit of cheering up given the current situation so here you go:

 

 

**_ November 2007, Jonny is 19 and Patrick 18 _ **

It has taken Jonny almost three weeks after Patrick’s visit to muster up the courage to talk to the trainers about his food problem. The fact that both Seabs and Patrick have caught onto something fishy going on may also have played into Jonny’s decision to finally seek help. He would have done it sooner, but after his first game, his first game that they lose but still makes Jonny feel incredible because Jonny scores. He scores his first goal, makes his first point, in his first game, assisted by Patrick and Seabs and it nearly overshadows the pain of losing. It has him on a high and when they win the next two games, one at home and one on the road he almost forgets about the way he has been kneeling over a toilet before both games and how the idea of food alone has his stomach churn most of these days. But then Seabs notices and he keeps asking Jonny if he’s alright and he is, Jonny is objectively alright. Sure he isn’t playing as well as he could if his body was functioning properly, but he knows it’s nothing too bad or Patrick would have told him and he’s got a bit of a streak going, one game one point, his first ten games. It’s pretty incredible everybody tells him and in the light of that, well everything else just doesn’t seem as important.

And then Patrick, present Patrick comes over to play video games and he talks Jonny into ordering batter-fried chicken with noodles and some soy sauce, because apparently it’s the best thing in the world if you trust Patrick’s judgement, which Jonny does. To a certain extent, sometimes more sometimes less. Depending on which Patrick passes the sentence. It tastes surprisingly okay and Jonny tells Patrick who just gives him an open-mouthed grin and says something that is probably supposed to mean “I told you so” but comes out mostly indistinct since Patrick, the pig, is chewing at the same time and thus talking with his mouth full. It makes Jonny smile for some inexplicable reason. It’s good, it’s nice, they’ve paused there game to eat, but Jonny is winning even if Patrick won’t admit it. Or he would have won. If they’d ever gotten around to resuming the game.

They don’t, because Jonny only makes it through half his plate before throwing up. He barely reaches the kitchen sink in time.

“Shit, Jonny!” Patrick is by his side in an instant. There’s the distant clatter of plates and cutlery, but Jonny barely hears it over the sound of his own vomit splattering as he throws up everything he just ate. His stomach has barely started to digest it, some of the noodles are even still recognizable as such. It’s disgusting. Jonny’s eyes burn and his throat hurts, but he can’t stop, his stomach heaving relentlessly, and he wishes Patrick wasn’t here, wishes he could shake off the hand rubbing on his shoulders because this is just so embarrassing. He hates that Patrick, anyone really, sees him like this. So weak.

“Jonny, man, you should have told me you were feeling sick.” Patrick mutters, sounding mildly disgusted, but to his credit, he doesn’t back off, even hands Jonny a glass of water to wash out his mouth when it finally looks like his stomach is empty and nothing more is going to come up.

“’m not sick.” Jonny replies weakly to which Patrick scrunches up his nose.

“Dude, I hate to break it to you, but throwing up this super awesome dinner is not exactly normal. So.”

For a moment Jonny doesn’t say anything, because to him it sort of is, or rather has _become_ normal over the past weeks. He can’t really tell Patrick that though. He shouldn’t. But it’s _Patrick_.

“I’ve been, uh, having trouble keeping food down. Lately.” He says, keeping his voice carefully even.

“What does that mean?” Patrick looks confused.

“It means I eat food and then I throw it up. What else could it mean, dumbass.” Jonny sighs, slowly making his way over to the couch, eying his half eaten plate, before picking it up and dumping the remainder in the trash.

“But-” Patrick follows him on his trail, “But I’ve seen you eat and you never just- Like now-”

“I don’t always throw up instantly.” Jonny explains pinching the bridge of his nose. He feels exhausted, “And not after every meal. It just happens. More often than not. Okay?”

“No. _Not_ okay!” Patrick exclaims, grabbing Jonny by the shoulder, forcing him to lock eyes, “That’s not okay, shit, Jonny. You, like, gotta talk to a doctor about this? Or I don’t know, the trainers? Or at least coach?”

“Yeah I know,” he replies quietly. He does know, Patrick told him already, told him to talk to the trainers, be honest with them. But he also said that it, whatever is going on with Jonny, it won’t keep him from playing hockey and that’s good. But also that the trainers try to tell Jonny it’s just stress and he can’t- He doesn’t know how to convince them that it’s not when they are the professionals and even though Jonny won’t admit it, the thought of having them dismiss him, tell him that it’s _just_ stress and that Jonny is just being a wuss, he simply can’t handle it. It scares him. And it’s humiliating.

“You _know_?” there’s a twitch around Patrick’s mouth and he doesn’t look convinced at all, “Fantastic. Then I assume you’d be cool with me texting Tom from medical right now, asking for an appointment before morning skate tomorrow? Like, you’d totally appreciate what an awesome friend I am for doing this since you sadly haven’t gotten around to it yet?”

“Don’t.” Jonny says. Patrick who’s already got his phone in hand lifts an eyebrow.

“Why not?” he inquires, when Jonny fails to continue his one word sentence, “Dude, it could be something bad, you realize that, right? Like, what if it _is_ something bad? You need to get it checked out.”

“It’s not something bad.” Jonny presses his lips together.

“Well, hey fucking yay, mind sharing with me how you know that if you haven’t gotten it checked out?” Patrick honestly sounds a little mad. It’s quite irritating, causing Jonny to frown. It’s not like Jonny is throwing shit up just to fuck with Patrick.

“Because hey I’m not a doctor, but vomiting regularly while continuing extreme physical exertion on a daily basis, doesn’t sound like the best combination health wise. And as far as I know you haven’t gotten around to getting a medical degree either so-”

“You,” Jonny finds himself snapping. It feels like Patrick is backing him into a corner and Jonny doesn’t like that. “You told me that. Actually. So back off. It’s not cancer or some bad shit like that. So.”

For a split second Patrick looks like Jonny slapped him, then he looks angry. Angrier than before. “So, what, that fuckface told you to not see a doctor about this? What the fuck and you listen to him?”

“You-” Jonny stares at him, “ _You_ told me that it wasn’t something bad. That I’d figure it out. And yeah, maybe you also said that I-”

“ _He_! He said that!” Patrick yells, “ _I_ am telling you to fucking talk to the trainers, get that shit checked out! How the hell does that not get into your thick Canadian skull?”

Jonny opens his mouth to argue, feeling the urge to defend future Patrick from this, telling present Patrick that future Patrick did tell Jonny to talk to the trainers as well. And that Jonny is not being bullheaded, it’s just that the timing is wrong and he’d rather figure it out first himself, which he will if he only gets the time to maybe do some reading on the internet and-

He doesn’t get to say any of it, because suddenly Seabs emerges from the hallway leading to his bedroom. He’s frowning, probably confused about the yelling, which he really shouldn’t be, it’s Jonny and Patrick after all, but maybe he sensed that something is off.

“What’s going on kids?” he asks calmly, “Who said what? What needs to be checked out?”

Jonny clamps his mouth shut. Sadly, that isn’t Patrick’s first instinct.

“Jonny is being an idiot.” He says, “He’s fucking throwing up everything he eats and refuses to talk to the trainers about it.”

Seabs eyes widen and he turns to look at Jonny, “Is that true?”

“I’m not-” Jonny flails, trying to ignore the sense of betrayal he feels dwelling in his chest at Patrick just spilling what wasn’t exactly a secret but still something Jonny would have thought could be held in confidentiality by his friend, “Not _everything_. And not voluntarily. It’s just-”

“So it _is_ true?” Seabs inquires and Patrick nods, while Jonny clenches his jaw, “Why do you not want to talk to the trainers? It might be just stress related but it could be something serious. Either way, Kaner is right you should get it checked out. That’s what we have medical staff for, Jonny.”

Jonny ignores Seabs in favor of staring at Patrick, “I hate you,” he whispers.

Patrick looks severely unimpressed, “Get in line. So, should I text Tom? Or would you rather have Seabs do it?”

Seabs looks at Jonny. Jonny’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of them. They’d both do it in an instant. No matter what Jonny says now they would, as soon as he turns his back.

“I’ll do it myself.” He snaps, pulling his phone out of his pocket. That’d be even more humiliating, having one of his teammates make a doctor’s appointment for him, because Jonny can’t get his shit together. Like he’s a bratty child getting dragged to the doctor by his mom. He keeps glaring at Patrick while the dial tone rings, only when Tom, the head of their medical stuff picks up, Jonny turns away so he can concentrate on what to say.

 

***

 

**_ Jonny is 8 and Patrick is 26 _ **

“I hate you!” Jonny screams, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” He’s hammering his fists against Patrick’s chest with as much force as he can manage. Patrick stumbles back a few steps, obviously bewildered by Jonny’s sudden outburst, barely bringing up his arms to fend Jonny off. They are in Jonny’s room and no one else apart from the girl that’s supposed to babysit Jonny is in the house. But she’s downstairs on the phone with her boyfriend, has been for one hour now so it was no problem for Jonny to sneak out into the woods and smuggle Patrick inside. It’s raining really hard so staying outside hadn’t been an option. She’s also watching TV so Jonny doesn’t think she’ll come upstairs looking for him. She never does.

“Woah! What’s going on?” Patrick asks, when he eventually manages to get a hold of Jonny’s wrists. They look like twigs in Patrick’s big hands and that makes Jonny only angrier. He tries to kick Patrick but Patrick is able to dodge and if it weren’t for his grip on Jonny’s wrists, Jonny would have landed on his ass.

“I hate you.” Jonny spits, glaring at Patrick angrily.

“You’ve already said that!” Patrick sounds slightly hysterical, “Jonny, what is going on with you? What did I do?”

“Tu n'existes pas!” Jonny manages to free himself stumbling back and almost tripping over one of his toy dinosaurs, “Je suis fou. Je suis fou et c'est à cause de toi!”

“English please, Jonny!” Patrick seems increasingly freaked out, staring at Jonny pleadingly.

Jonny huffs, barely refraining from throwing up his hands in frustration. It doesn’t make sense that Patrick doesn’t speak French and Jonny hates that too. He stomps over to his desk and takes the crumpled piece of paper and pushes it into Patrick’s hand, who has followed him through the room.

“What is this- oh!” Patrick has straightened the paper and is looking at it now, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That’s us, isn’t it? Sweet! Nice drawing, Jonny.” He says appreciatively but Jonny just looks at him grimly. He knows what it is. He made it, duh. It’s a colored pencil drawing of Jonny, a brown haired, brown eyed figure and a taller figure with blonde messy hair and blue eyes. The second figure is also naked. He wrote _Pat & Jonny_ over their heads with his new fountain pen.

“What is it, Jonny, why are you upset about this?” Patrick asks, gently, “I mean you could have drawn me with pants on, but otherwise-”

“My mom thinks I’m crazy.” Jonny tells him, “Because I got mad at David, because he made fun of my drawing, he said you look stupid so I bit him and-”

“You bit David?” Patrick laughs, “Ha, serves him right.”

“I don’t show my mom my drawings of you, because when I was little she got worried, because I only ever drew you, she thought I imagined you as my friend because I’m lonely and now David told her I still draw you and she’s gonna take me to a therapist and only crazy kids go to the therapist! I’m crazy!” Jonny says it all in one go, the words just tumbling out and when he’s done he’s breathing like he’s been running and he can feel tears prickling in his eyes, “I don’t want to be the crazy kid everyone in school will laugh at me and I’m never gonna have friends.”

“Jonny, Jonny, hey,” Patrick crouches down, putting his hands on Jonny’s shoulder, “calm down, hey, c’mon. You aren’t crazy. I promise you that. It’s all good. It’s okay. You are okay.”

“No, I’m not. I’m crazy and you aren’t real.” Jonny shakes his head. He’s overheard his mom talk to his dad, tell him how worried she was that Jonny was still hung up on this ‘Pat’, that she thought they were over this and how they needed to do something.

“I promise you, I’m very real.” Patrick insists, “Here you can pinch me.” He puts Jonny’s fingers on his arm, “See, I’m real. You aren’t imagining me.”

“How would you know?” Jonny pulls his arm away and wraps them around himself, “If you are just in my head you could just tell me what I want to hear and make me believe it’s real. But it’s not.”

“I…” Patrick looks a little helpless, “Jonny, you can touch me, and hear me and see me, you- The list, the list is real, isn’t it? The list that we wrote together. You could show it to your brother and if he sees it too it’s real and that means I’m real too, right?”

Jonny thinks about it for a moment. He doesn’t really want to show the list to anyone, it’s secret and private and also-

“Yeah but…” Jonny hesitates, “What if I wrote it alone? And I just imagined the parts that you did and really I wrote them, just in weird handwriting? What if that’s how crazy I am? Alex’s mom from my class has a tumour in her head, I mean brain and he says she imagines things all the time and she thinks they are real, but they are not. What if I-” Jonny’s voice drops to a whisper and he stares at his hands then at Patrick, “What if I have a tumour in my head and that’s why I imagine you?”

“Okay, uh…” Patrick runs a hand through his hair, licking his lips a couple of times, “So I’m…not sure what to tell you except that I’m not a hallucination? I’m real, I’m a time traveller. I know that sounds fu- craz- no. It sounds _weird_. I get that, but you don’t have a brain tumour. Do you even know what a brain tumour is?”

“It’s cancer in your head.” Jonny snaps, “Don’t treat me like I’m dumb, Pat.”

“I’m not- Jonny, I don’t mean to treat you like you are dumb. Although it would have been really nice of future you to give me a heads up on you accusing me of being a hallucination. That would have been great.” Patrick tries for a reassuring smile but Jonny doesn’t buy it. If Patrick is really just in Jonny’s head, he could be saying anything to make Jonny feel better. Even make up a future Jonny gets with him. Which clearly would be his imagination too. “Look, what can I do for you to believe me?”

“I don’t know!” Jonny tells him, feeling miserable, so he climbs onto his bed so he can glare at Patrick from there. He really wants to believe that Patrick is real. He’s Jonny’s best friend and it would really suck if Jonny’s best friend was just a product of his own mind. Jonny has been so sure of Patrick for years, ever since he showed up that second time in the woods Jonny has never once doubted that Patrick really was his time travelling best friend from the future, but suddenly he’s not so sure anymore and the idea of there never being a Patrick, it’s scary and it makes Jonny want to cry. “I don’t know. Maybe… maybe… if you are from the future you must know things from the future, right?” Patrick nods, “You tell me something that I can’t know and then if it really happens I know you are real.”

“Okay,” Patrick sits down on the bed too, rubbing his chin, “Okay, yeah I can do that. Just, uh, let me think for a moment, Little Jonny. How old are you right now?”

“Eight.” Jonny purses his lips. Patrick should know that.

“Eight, okay. That means, we have what? 96? Spring? May?” Patrick squints his eyes, letting his gaze wander through Jonny’s room. Jonny wonders if maybe he’s seen it in the future (if he’s really a time traveller), because if him and Jonny are best friends Jonny must have showed him his room at some point. Maybe Patrick is comparing them right now.

Suddenly Patrick claps his hands, grinning brightly, “Ha! I got it so listen up.” Jonny scoots closer. “So soon, I don’t know the exact date, but soon, your mom will get a call.”

“A call?” Jonny looks at Patrick questioningly. A call isn’t exactly a rare occurrence. Jonny’s mom got lots of friends and she’s very busy. Many people call her.

“Yeah a call, Jonny.” Patrick smiles, “It’s about you. They want to recruit you to play summer hockey for the Winnipeg Junior Jets. And it’s gonna be great.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Patrick insists. “I promise. It’s gonna happen and then you’ll know for sure you aren’t crazy. And have a fantastic time too.”

“And you aren’t just my imagination?” Jonny adds carefully. Patrick nods.

“Yep. You’ll see.”

“But what about my mom?” Jonny asks, “I can’t tell her about the call? And not the therapist too. I’m not allowed to tell him about the time travel, right?”

Patrick shakes his head “No, Jonny. Sorry that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Then what do I tell them?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick admits and Jonny sighs.

“But!” Patrick continues though, causing Jonny to perk up again, “I do know that future you never mentioned anything about extensive therapy as a child, so I’m guessing you figure something smart to say out in that head of yours and it all works out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Patrick confirms, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

***

**_ November 2007, Jonny is 19 and Patrick turns 19 _ **

In hindsight of course, Jonny is thankful for Patrick pushing him to finally talk to the trainers, it takes him a while though, mostly because they can’t help him. The first thing they suggest is stress, which Jonny adamantly answers in the negative, which has both him and the staff frustrated and no step closer to figuring out Jonny’s problem. He begrudgingly agrees though, to try some stress relief exercises they tell him and after trying it a few times Jonny figures out that he actually quite likes doing Yoga and drinking some of the teas he’s been recommended. Something Patrick finds endlessly amusing, especially when Jonny starts doing Yoga in their room on road trips while Patrick watches his trash shows. It doesn’t help much with the initial problem though and Jonny knows it won’t but he’s been told to give it time and well, if it’s that what it takes for them to take him seriously he’ll do it. The puking is still bad and annoying and it’s getting harder and harder to keep his energy levels up, but Jonny is trying and so far it’s still manageable.

What’s also manageable is Patrick trying hard to get back into Jonny’s good graces. The truth is, due to his years of history and his quite significant feelings for the guy Jonny isn’t very good at holding grudges against him. He’s forgiven Patrick half a week after the incident, especially since deep down he knows that Patrick is right and that he did what he did because he cares about Jonny, not to piss him off. The thing is though, Patrick doesn’t seem to get the memo and so Jonny receives quite a few apologies (never once for what he did, but how. Jonny guesses that’s fair) and Patrick even stops bitching about the TV programs Jonny forces them to watch in their hotel room. Up until Jonny picks a fishing show for the third consecutive time which has Patrick throw his hands up in frustration and tackle Jonny to take the remote from him.

While it’s unfamiliar it’s also sort of nice, Patrick acting like that, not because Jonny is so set on picking the TV program or because he really needs Patrick to buy him coffee in the mornings -actually after a few days Jonny quite misses Patrick’s cocky annoyingness- but Patrick trying so hard, it’s a testimony of Patrick caring about their friendship, wanting Jonny to like him. And that’s new, because Patrick has a lot of friends so he’s really not dependant on Jonny’s friendship. And yet he wants it. Jonny would lie if he said it didn’t feel nice to be appreciated.

By the time Patrick’s birthday rolls around Patrick has mostly started acting normal again, so Jonny is a little confused when after practice Patrick mooches around Jonny’s stall, waiting for him to be done, instead of waiting at the car like he usually does. He is biting his lip and looking at Jonny but every time Jonny thinks he is going to say something his mouth claps shut again and Jonny resumes to getting changed and packing up his stuff. By the time he’s done (he might be taking his time on purpose, just to see if Patrick is going to snap, but he doesn’t) the locker room is almost empty.

“So…” Patrick says as Jonny is about to slip into his trainers. Jonny looks up, catching Patrick worrying at his lip again. It gives them an unfairly pretty shade of red, that has been a distraction for Jonny on more than one occasion, but this is present Patrick not Jonny’s boyfriend Patrick so he doesn’t allow his gaze to linger.

“What?” he asks.

“You know tomorrow is November the 19th…” Patrick says slowly and Jonny has to chuckle.

“Yes, that’s usually what happens after November the 18th.” he points out. Patrick responds by kicking Jonny’s second shoe under the bench. Perhaps, Jonny deserves that.

“It’s my birthday tomorrow, asshole.” Patrick tries to glare at him, but his lips are already curling into a smile. It’s sweet really, Patrick being excited about his birthday. It has something childlike that Jonny isn’t so used to seeing in older Patrick’s.

Jonny rolls his eyes, “I know it’s your birthday, dude. The team and I are throwing you a party tomorrow night. We’ve told you that.”

Patrick seems confused for a moment then he waves his hand dismissively, “Whatever. It’s my birthday and as you know my family came down today and we are having a lunch tomorrow in this super fancy restaurant and I was wondering if you’d like to come.”

Jonny halts. He’s managed to fish his shoe out from under the bench and is currently busy pulling on his jacket, but Patrick’s words catch him by surprise. He turns to look at him, “To your _birthday_ lunch.” He repeats.

Patrick nods, “Yeah, duh.”

Jonny clears his throat, “Isn’t uhm… Did Chloe not have time to come down too?”

Jonny may have never had a relationship where these kind of things were an option but he is still pretty confident in his assumption that birthday lunch with the family counts as an occasion to bring your girlfriend to, not your best friend and teammate.

“Nah, we aren’t together anymore,” Patrick says casually and everything in Jonny snaps to attention.

“Mh,” Jonny makes a noise that he hopes doesn’t give a way how much he has craved this little piece of information, “That must… suck. Yeah. And uh… how did that happen? I mean, what happened? And when?”

“When you were still pissed at me,” Patrick says nonchalantly shooting him an amused look, “And don’t sweat it dude, I know you didn’t like her.”

Jonny opens his mouth to protest, but Patrick cuts him off.

“You know, she kept bitching about the whole long distance thing and, like, I get it, it’s like so much effort and I was honestly getting pretty annoyed by it too.” Patrick explains with a long suffering expression plastered onto his face, “But the thing is, I think she kept waiting for me to tell her to come down here to Chicago, as in _move_ here. And that’s not really… like… I’m not even twenty. I’m not gonna go and play house with some chick.” He pauses, looking expectantly at Jonny like he’s waiting for him to agree and Jonny would, he really would, if to weren’t for the fact that Jonny isn’t twenty yet either and there is still a certain someone Jonny would very much like to go and play house with, “Anyway,” Patrick continues, “She was always mad at me anyway, like whenever I stood her up, for example, even when I apologized and I told her from the start that being on time? Not my thing. And I’m never gonna be on time. ‘s just how it is. Not that she knows that, but…” he shrugs again, still looking at Jonny.

Jonny stares back, “Okay…” he says slowly.

Patrick scoffs, “Oh c’mon Jonny, you never liked her and now you have the opportunity to bitch with me about her and you don’t? Is this your Canadian politeness constipation thing or what?”

“Canadian politeness consti-” Jonny splutters, glaring at Patrick, “That is _not_ a thing. And I did not not like her?” What Jonny has disliked was her being Patrick’s girlfriend, “I didn’t really know her.” He’s never met the girl. She might be nice for all Jonny knows. Getting mad about your boyfriend standing you up repeatedly and not telling you the real reason, it would make Jonny mad too. Just like the long distance thing. He knows how much it hurts to be apart from the person you love. To miss them and wait for them. If he had the chance to change it he would to. He can’t blame Chloe for that. He feels sorry for her suddenly. It’s clear that she has had feelings for Patrick that Patrick clearly hasn’t returned. At least not in the way she wanted him to. Another thing Jonny can relate to. And now Patrick has cut her out. Just like that.

Jonny swallows, “So… birthday lunch with the Kane family?”

“Yeah, you coming?” Patrick wiggles his eyebrows, “But no hitting on my sisters I swear to god or I’ll castrate you.”

“That would make for an awkward lunch.” Jonny replies dryly, “But yeah I’m gonna come if you want me to. I look forward to meeting your family. I don’t actually know much about them so…”

“Wait, really?” Patrick asks gleefully, causing Jonny to frown.

“Yeah, your future-selves don’t really tell me shit like that.” Jonny says slowly and Patrick fucking snickers, apparently very delighted by this newfound knowledge.

“Ha. Awesome.” He plops down on the bench next to Jonny grinning brightly, “So there’s my mom Donna, she’s the best mom in the world, sorry I don’t make the rules. And then there’s my dad, Patrick Sr. He’s also pretty damn awesome and then there’s Erica, Jacqueline and Jessica. They are all younger than me but Erica is the oldest and…”

Patrick babbles on, giving Jonny a full on family portrait right there in the locker room , telling him about his mom’s passion for books, about Jessica’s school project about that summer they spent at the coast and how he’s going to buy them all whatever they want as soon as he earns enough money. It’s nice, really nice. Patrick is passionate about his family, Jonny realizes and the way he talks about them they must be close too. Jonny has noticed how often Patrick calls his family when they are on the road but somehow he hadn’t made the connection that this might be because Patrick actually _wants_ to talk to his family and not because he feels obligated to like Jonny does sometimes.

Jonny loves his family too. Of course, he does. It’s just different. He loves his mom and dad, but that doesn’t mean they are close. And David, well they are brothers but Jonny doesn’t think that they would be friends.

It’s later that evening, when Jonny’s already in bed that he realizes he forgot to ask Patrick something that he feels like he should know before the lunch tomorrow. It’s not that Jonny is nervous, _he isn’t_ , he isn’t meeting the Kane’s as a boyfriend after all but as a friend, so it’s fine, but it’s also… it’s important to make good impressions, especially to important people and these people they are quite evidently important to Patrick and since Jonny will spend his life with Patrick well, by extension they are important to him to so it it’s more than vital to Jonny for Patrick’s family to like him. Which would be easier if Jonny trusted in his ability to come across as likeable. He’s gotten better at it over the years but most of the time he still feels awkward as hell and not really good at connecting with people. Especially when they are strangers. Now, that Patrick has given him a brief but heartfelt run down on the family Jonny doesn’t view them as much as strangers anymore but he has no clue what they know about him. If Patrick ever told them anything about Jonny beyond the fact that he’s his teammate and road trip roommate.

Without further ado, fully aware of the fact that freaking out in his head won’t get him anywhere and this actually being one of the situations where he can actually make contact with Patrick to talk it through, Jonny unplugs his phone from its charger and dials Patrick’s number.

“ ’ello?” Patrick answers after a couple of rings and the raspiness in his voice makes it hard to tell if it’s due to sleepiness or alcohol.

“Hey, Pat, it’s me, Jonny.” He greets him.

“Eyy,” Patrick slurs. Drunk it is then, Jonny notes absentmindedly, “Sup, brooo?” he stretches the word obnoxiously and Jonny can pretty much picture the dopey grin that must be on his face right now.

“About the birthday lunch tomorrow,” Jonny begins, but Patrick interrupts him.

“You aren’t gonna cancel, are you?” he says hastily, “No take backs. I mean no cancel-backs. Uh… I mean…”

“I’m not cancelling.” Jonny cuts in quickly, “I was just wondering about something.”

“ ‘bout what?”

Jonny clears his throat, smoothing his hands over his bed covers, “Your family, do they know about me knowing about your travelling? Did you tell them?”

There’s a rustling sound coming through the speaker for a moment and faint voices and then Patrick is back, just his voice and nothing else. “Ah yes, I told my mom pretty much the day you told me. I was feeling fucking ecstatic, you know? ‘m guessing she told the others too.”

He says it like it’s obvious and simple and to him it probably is and of course Jonny sort of has expected this answer. It makes sense, it does, and yet…

He must have been quiet for a moment too long, because suddenly Patrick asks, “Jonny? Are you still there?” and Jonny has to scramble to find his voice again and croak out a moderately normal sounding “Yeah.” in response.

“You okay? You sound weird.” Patrick asks immediately. That much for sounding normal.

Jonny sighs, “Yeah. Yeah. I’m good. Really.”

Patrick hums in response and there’s a sound like he’s taking a gulp out of a bottle. Beer probably. Or so Jonny hopes.

“Did you not want me to tell my mom?” Patrick asks when another moment of silence has passed, “Because… I mean. It’s my mom. You know? Like, I was not not gonna tell her. ‘s okay, right? Jonny?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jonny says quickly, Patrick has sounded like he was getting slightly upset and Jonny doesn’t want that. That has not been the purpose of this phone call, “Of course it’s okay, Patrick. It’s just…” Jonny hesitates, rubbing his neck, “It’s always been a secret, you and me, your visits. From my side of things anyway, I’ve never… I’m just not used to people knowing.”

“Not even your mom?”

The disbelief in Patrick’s tone makes Jonny let out a tiny laugh. It’s so innocent and sweet, like this Patrick, tipsy, carefree Patrick can’t even imagine Jonny not telling his mom about his time travelling best friend.

“Hell no, Pat.” He says smiling, “Can you imagine? She wouldn’t have just send me to a therapist. She’d have me admitted to a psych ward.”

“Ooh, right.” Patrick sounds thoughtful then he giggles. “Crazy Little Jonny. Kind of weird though,” he continues after getting himself under control again, “Jonny, Jonny, just believing some weird dude that he’s a time traveller? ‘could have been a… a you know… bad person.”

Jonny smiles, softly, remembering how he has accused Patrick of just that, of being a pervert and a kidnapper, how he almost hit him with a stick and yelled for his mom and dad, “What can I say, I was a trusting child. And you were… convincing?”

“I _am_ pretty awesome.” Patrick agrees wistfully. “I mean… shit. Wait. Jonny.” He sounds alarmed all of sudden.

“What?”

“You were fucking five, dude. You said you were five. Shit.” He replies, something close to panic in his tone. Jonny marks it down to the alcohol in Patrick’s system that he can’t really follow that train of thought.

“Yeah?” he says patiently

“Dude. You were five and I was naked. I-” he sounds vaguely mortified, “I fucking flashed a five year old. Oh man. Oh Jesus.” His next words are the sort of whisper-shout that was almost uniquely used by drunk people, “I could go to jail for that, Jonny.”

Jonny snorts, rolling his eyes, “Patrick, you steal clothes all the time and break into houses and shit. Not to even mention the trespassing.” _And the sexual intercourse with underage Jonny,_ “You could go to jail for a lot of things. And I know, I’m not the first person time travelling you has flashed. And you and the age of alcohol consumption in the US aren’t the best of friends either. So.”

“Oh.” Patrick says, “Oh yeah. True. Ha, I’m a real gangster, aren’t I, Jonny? Aren’t I?”

“What you are is drunk.” Jonny says fondly, feeling the need to point out the obvious. He still feels a little weird about Patrick drinking (and Patrick drinks a lot for such a little dude), but he’s getting better at separating the two Patrick’s in his head, so he manages to say it without that much judgement, at least he thinks so, because Patrick doesn’t complain about Jonny being _‘boring-ass-judgy’_ again. “You should go to sleep, Patrick. You don’t want to be hungover for your birthday lunch tomorrow.”

“I don’t get hungover. It’s my superpower.” Patrick claims proudly, which is a lie, but Jonny just shakes his head.

“Good night, Pat.” He says quietly. Patrick mumbles something in response, but it gets cut off by Patrick probably accidently hitting the call end button.

 

***

 

“So Jon.” Erica, the eldest of the three Kane sisters leans over, giving Jonny a once over, a smile playing on her lips that looks so much like her brother’s it distracts Jonny for a split second. “Mom says you know about Patrick’s,” she pauses and wiggles her eyebrows, “ _special feature_?”

Patrick’s snorts and Jessica lets out a giggle, leaning against her father’s shoulder. Patrick’s mom shakes her head, giving her daughter a disapproving yet affectionate look, “Erica. Honey.”

Erica clicks her tongue, “Fine. His ‘ _condition_ ’, whatever.” she makes little air quotes with her hands, “I’ve been wondering, why and when he told you, because, no offence you seem like a great guy, but the first rule of time-travel-condition is ‘don’t tell anyone about the time-travel-condition’. So you understand our confusion when Patty calls and says ‘hey, I’ve got this teammate and he knows and he’s my best friend’. It’s a little bit odd.”

Before Jonny can reply in any way, or rather even process any of the words she just dumped on him, Patrick’s mother cuts in -again with a disapproving look, “Erica, don’t be rude. We are all very happy that Patrick has someone he can trust when he’s so far away from home.”

“I’m not being rude!” Erica protests, turning back to Jonny with a charming smile, “Jon doesn’t mind. Does he?”

Jonny clears his throat, making brief eye-contact with Patrick who just gives him a tiny shrug while taking a sip from his coke. There’s something off about his expression though that Jonny can’t quite put his finger on.

“It’s fine, Ma’am. Really, I don’t mind.” Jonny says politely to Patrick’s mom, before turning so he can speak to all of the Kane children, since apparently not only Erica is interested in his answer. Funnily enough, Patrick seems a little curious too. That and also really fucking uncomfortable, so Jonny halts for a moment waiting for some kind of cue but Patrick doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t give Jonny any sort of signal in regards of what he wants him to reply so Jonny decides to go with the truth. At least a part of it.

“Well, technically Patrick,” he pauses and nods in Patrick’s direction, “didn’t tell me. Not yet. A future him appeared in my backyard when I was a child and that kept happening and we became friends. So when I met Patrick in prospect camp I already knew about the… about… his time travelling.”

There are about five seconds of hushed silence, before Erica lets out something that might be described as a shriek of excitement as she claps her hands together. Jonny just stares at her.

“It kept happening?” Jacqueline asks curiously, “Patty travelling to you, as in more than once or twice? Why? And how often?”

Jonny shifts a little in his seat, tugging at the collar of his button-down shirt, “I… don’t know? Every few weeks, I guess?”

He doesn’t have to guess though. There’s the simple option of taking the list out of his wallet and seeing exactly how often and when Patrick travels to Jonny throughout his childhood, but for some reason everything inside Jonny is bridling at that thought. He has barely showed the list to Patrick it wouldn’t feel right to just spread it out here on the table for everyone to see. Besides, it’s private, it’s intimate. It’s Jonny’s. It’s-

Jonny doesn’t want to show it, he realizes. Not even to Patrick’s family, not even when these are probably the only people who are as involved in Patrick’s time travelling as Jonny is. In some sense at least.

Patrick doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t. He’s been probably wondering the same thing – _when, why, how often_ \- ever since Jonny told him about it, especially since he’s never experienced any of these visits, only knows about them through Jonny’s account and that- Jonny looks around the table and even though all those people know about Patrick’s travelling, all those people know about his ‘condition’ none of them know about Jonny, and yes, he has known that, but it’s different. These people know about his relationship with Patrick, even if you just consider the friendship part, it’s still very much just all Jonny. It doesn’t exist. Not for Patrick or any of them. He can’t imagine how it must be for the Kane family, looking at Jonny, an effective stranger who suddenly shows up and claims to be in on the fiercely protected family secret without any of them having told him. He just knows how it feels for him and that is cold. Jonny feels cold all of sudden and he stares down at his half eaten plate of chicken salad. He’s an intruder.

He glances at Patrick and wonders if Patrick sees him like that, like someone who knows things about him that Patrick never told him, things he might not want Jonny to know, because _he_ doesn’t know Jonny and that thought, it makes Jonny feel sick in a way that has nothing to do with food for once. Future Patrick has never told Jonny much and yet Jonny knows a lot, a lot more than Patrick is probably comfortable with. Jonny knows about the first time Patrick travelled, because future Patrick told him on a rainy day when Jonny had been sick with the flu and whiny about everything. Jonny knows about Patrick having slept with a nightlight until he was twelve years old because Patrick has told him when Jonny had been embarrassed about being scared of taking the school bus alone without his mom or dad. Jonny knows how ashamed Patrick is when people point out the lisp, he worked so hard on getting rid of. Present Patrick usually laughs it off, pretends like he doesn’t care and he does a phenomenal job at that, but Jonny knows that even future Patrick gets insecure about it sometimes. Those things are Patrick’s and Jonny feels like a thief, holding onto them unrightfully, because this Patrick hasn’t given them to him.

There is more that Jonny knows. Jonny also knows how it feels to be kissed by Patrick. He knows how Patrick sounds when he comes, he knows how it feels to have Patrick swallow his cock, how it is to fuck Patrick, to be fucked by him, to-

Thankfully Jonny’s internal mental meltdown goes largely unnoticed, because the Kane sisters have hurdled together having a somewhat excited yet heated whisper-discussion over half the table while Patrick sighs, slumping back in his chair.

“Can you not, please?” he says giving his sisters a look.

“But Pat!” Erica argues, her voice vibrant with obvious enthusiasm, “It’s a pattern. You travelling to Jon repeatedly, is a pattern. That means it isn’t random.”

Patrick gives her a ‘so what’ look and the nonverbal exchange between the other two girls has Jonny feeling like there is something he is missing to be able to really follow the conversation. Which is odd since up to about 20 seconds ago he was part of said conversation. He leans to Patrick and asks quietly: “What’s going on?” hoping Patrick will care to clue him in.

“Erica,” Patrick begins with an exasperated sigh, nodding his head towards his sister, “Has got the idea in her head, that she’ll figure… my condition out,” Jonny can practically hear the air quotes in Patrick’s voice, he has a sort of sour twist around his mouth at the word condition, like he doesn’t like the taste of it, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, “She wants to find a-”

“A cure.” Erica cuts in, the tone of her voice speaking of excitement and determination, “And so far almost everything about Pat’s travelling has appeared mostly random, without any sense or order to it, but you- him visiting you semi-regularly, that means there is a pattern and a pattern means rules, laws that this condition obeys. And that means-”

“Sweetie, please,” Donna Kane, cuts in, giving her daughter another pointed look, “We are not talking about this over your brother’s birthday lunch. Besides, don’t you think graduating High School should be of higher concern for you right now?”

“But mom!” Erica argues, which earns her nothing but a stern look from both her parents.

It’s Jaqueline that leans over to Jonny next, in the process almost dipping her long blonde hair into her brother’s food. “Erica thinks that Pat needs to be saved.” She explains with an ominous eyebrow wiggle, that has Jonny frown. He glances at Patrick who just rolls his eyes.

“Saved?” Jonny echoes, hoping it’s enough to prompt her to elaborate. Thankfully it is.

“Well there’s a probability,” she explains, waving her hand in the direction of Patrick, “that his freaky mutation thingie is gonna make him appear, like in front of a bus or something like that and get him hurt one of these days. So like-”

“Everybody can get hit by a bus or something.” Patrick mumbles, “And I’m fine. I never travel while driving or flying, or something. My freak mutation thingie doesn’t seem out to get me killed any time soon. So. I’m good.” He gives Jonny a look that Jonny can’t quite interpret, “I’m good.”

His mom smiles, “You are, honey.”

“And don’t call your brother a freak, Jacqueline.” His father adds ignoring Jacqueline protests.

“I wasn’t,” she insists, “I mean he kind of-”

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Patrick suddenly snaps. There’s an unfamiliar sharp edge to his voice and maybe that is what has his sisters look at him in bewilderment, like they aren’t used to him snapping at them either. Patrick does look sorry the second the words are out and when he repeats, “Please.” His voice is softer, but still laced with assertiveness.

“Uhm…” Jessica laughs awkwardly, nudging Erica with her elbow who just scoffs at her. Patrick is staring at his plate.

“Jonathan,” Donna says after a few more seconds of awkward silence and even though Jonny’s heart jumps a little at being addressed suddenly he smiles at her politely, signalling that he’s listening. His thoughts stay with Patrick though, wondering what is going on his head right now. This clearly hasn’t been the first time he has had a discussion like this with his family and while he loves his sisters he’s obviously a little fed up with their involvement. Erica, Jessica and Jacqueline, they’ve known about the travelling forever, they grew up with a time travelling brother, but they, just like everyone else, just like Jonny himself can’t really fathom what it’s truly like for Patrick, so them talking about it like an everyday thing, trying to figure his ‘freak mutation’ out, it seems like another invasion of Patrick’s privacy, something that is so inherently personal and even intimate if you will. Patrick is all alone with it and while Jonny is pretty sure he appreciates them caring, he probably also doesn’t want to keep explaining. Even with Jonny he rarely ever discusses specifics of his travelling. Future Patricks, ironically, talk about it a bit more freely (within the confines of his rules, that is), how it feels, experiences he has had, but present Patrick is very tight lipped about it.

Jonny thinks it may be him not wanting to emphasize this one thing that makes him different. Patrick likes to stand out, like to be the center of attention. But for his skill, for himself, what he can do. Not for something he has no control over. Jonny gets it. The travelling is something that controls him.

“Do you not like your food?” Donne asks, nodding towards Jonny’s mostly full plate, “We can order you something else. You must be hungry. I know Patrick always is and you two have the same schedule, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Jonny glances down, eyeing the food carefully. He can feel Patrick’s eyes on him too, “Yeah, I had a big breakfast and overestimated my appetite a little, I’m afraid. I’m sorry I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

The truth is, Jonny is hungry. He also does like the food. His stomach just might not. He’s taken a few bites, but then the possible prospect of having to get up halfway through dessert to go and throw up in the restaurant restroom has killed all the appetite Jonny might have had. He’d rather go hungry and eat later tonight and then throw up in his own bathroom without the family of his future boyfriend in the next room.

 

***

 

“Jonnyyyy,” Patrick stretches the last syllable in a way that has Jonny roll his eyes in response, but still turn around, so he can leans against his car and make eye-contact with Patrick. They are in the parking lot of the hotel where they’ve dropped off Patrick’s family. Their next stop is going home, first to Seabs then the Bowmanns’s where Patrick is living, and then meet up with the rest of the team for Patrick’s birthday party.

“What?” he asks, crossing his arms but smiling.

“It’s my birthday, Jonny.” Patrick says and Jonny resists the urge to roll his eyes again, because yes, yes it is Patrick’s birthday, how in the world does Patrick expect Jonny to have missed that when they both just have attended Patrick’s birthday lunch, which also included a shower of gifts that are currently stored in the back of Jonny’s car and- oh.

Jonny blushes a little, hoping Patrick won’t notice. Of course he’s gotten Patrick a gift. He’s been tossing and turning with what to give him ever since he had found out when, and especially how soon Patrick’s birthday was going to be. He’d figured it out eventually, drawing from a story a future Patrick told him ages ago, voice laced with regret and wistfulness. He has been sure, up until a few hours ago, that Patrick would like the gift, but now he isn’t so convinced anymore. All Jonny can think about is all the pieces he has of Patrick that Patrick never offered up, all the knowledge and memories and how none of it is fair to Patrick.

But Patrick is looking at him expectantly now, a hint of impatience in his eyes as he’s teetering back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Right,” Jonny says slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I haven’t given you your gift yet.”

“So you _did_ get me something! Gimme, Jonny.” Patrick’s eyes light up and the bright grin his lips curl into makes Jonny’s stomach flutter. In a good way for once, so he decides he might as well go for it. He has already bought it, wrapped it, has carried it around with him all day, if Patrick doesn’t like it he can still throw it away himself.

“I did.” Jonny confirms, fumbling the flat box out of his jacket pocket while Patrick’s gaze tracks the movement, tongue flashing out between his teeth as he’s grinning. “So, uhm, you –future you- told me once about your necklace. The cross one of your grandmother gave you for your communion.”

“I lost it.” Patrick says solemnly.

Jonny nods. He knows that too, “Yeah. You never wore it, because you knew if you travelled while wearing it, sooner or later you would lose it.”

“I only wore it once,” Patrick continues, “To the draft. For good luck. And it was all good and my family and I, we were already back at the hotel and then I… I travelled. And it was just gone. I don’t know. I found my jersey and shirt and even my belt, but the necklace…” He sounds remorseful, just like future Patrick had when he had told Jonny about losing the necklace, even though he never has had given any specifics about when or how it had occurred. Jonny can tell that Patrick wishes he hadn’t worn it, so it would still be safe and sound in his possession. Never wearing it would be a small price to pay. And that exactly has given Jonny the idea for Patrick’s birthday gift.

“Yes. So…” Jonny clears his throat and holds out the box, wrapped in simple red wrapping paper, because Jonny is not the most skilled person when it comes to this sort of things so he is glad he has managed this much. No need to risk anything with fancy bows or something equally unnecessary. Patrick doesn’t seem to care anyway, he basically tears the wrapping paper off, flipping the box open with as much enthusiasm you’d expect from a twelve year old, but Jonny loves the unconcealed excitement written on his face, he loves how much Patrick doesn’t care if he seems overeager or childlike.

Patrick stares into the box, then his gaze darts up, back to Jonny, mouth slightly open and eyes wide.

Jonny flushes, “I know it’s not the same. It’s just a replica I had made from the description you gave me, “ he says quickly, almost tripping over his own tongue, “And I know you can’t wear it, but-”

“I love it.” Patrick aspirates and there’s the beginning of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Jonny, it’s perfect. It looks just like- Thank you. Thank you so much.”

There is nothing for Jonny to do, but to smile back. He couldn’t stop it if he tried. Patrick likes it, he likes Jonny’s gift, Jonny hasn’t fucked up, it’s-

Jonny feels so relieved and the bright grin of Patrick’s face as he lets his fingers ghost over the necklace in its box just adds to it. Making Patrick smile like this, Jonny thinks if winning the Stanley cup feels only a fraction as good it’d still be an understatement. And then Patrick hugs him and Jonny might have to think about a new ranking, because even though he has shared hundreds of kisses and more with Patrick, this hug, the way Patrick pulls him impossibly close, arms wrapped tightly around Jonny’s waist, raises some serious competition. Jonny has never been good with words and putting his thoughts and feelings into a somewhat fathomable form that allows him to express them properly, but he thinks even if he did, he wouldn’t know how to describe this. Thankfully he doesn’t have to.

When Patrick takes a step back, looking at his gift again, he sighs wistfully. “Shit,” he mumbles, “It sucks that I can’t wear it. Would be one hell of a good luck charm, I bet.”

Jonny bites his lip. Of course he has known that when he got him the necklace. It’s not new information, but Patrick sounds so torn about it, honestly sad and even a little apologetic, like he is letting Jonny down by not wearing his gift and that is something that Jonny can’t let stand.

“You could wear it now,” Jonny suggests on a whim and Patrick tilts his head in response, “At least until you go home tonight. I mean, I’m with you, right? Tonight, the party, I’m gonna be there, so if you end up travelling, I’ll just pick your stuff up and keep the necklace safe for you. That should be fine, right?”

“Hell yeah,” Patrick grins, holding out the box to Jonny. Jonny stares at it dumbly. Patrick rolls his eyes, “Put it on me, dude. I’m stupid clumsy with fasteners like that.”

Jonny’s mouth runs dry and he’s glad that Patrick has already turned around baring his neck to Jonny because fuck Jonny is sure his expression right now must show everything, every last bit that he’s feeling, every piece of _too much_ that future Patrick has warned Jonny about. He fumbles the slim gold necklace, with the dangling cross at the end out of the box, dimly aware of the fact that Patrick might be more dexterous with this no matter how clumsy he is, because Jonny’s hands are trembling and he has to take a couple of deep breaths before carefully placing the necklace around Patrick’s neck. His knuckles brush over bare skin while fastening it and Patrick shudders, which has Jonny mumble out an apology, but Patrick just shrugs, turning around and beaming at Jonny, one hand already closed around the cross like he isn’t quite ready to just let it dangle, to worried to lose this gift too.

“Thank you, Jonny.” Patrick says again, “Future me good for something for once, right?” he opens his hand looking at the pendant, smiling to himself. When he looks up again he’s got this dopey half grin going, leaning forward to bump his fist into Jonny’s shoulder, “C’mon now. Let’s go, Tazer. I’ve got a party to party.”

And just like that, the moment is over. Patrick shoulders his way past Jonny getting into the car before Jonny has gathered himself enough to even move. It’s good, Jonny tells himself, slowly walking around the car to get to the driver’s side. Patrick likes the gift, Patrick is happy and not mad at Jonny. It’s a win. And the rest of the night, whenever Jonny looks over to Patrick, even when he’s dancing with one of Sharpy’s girlfriend’s girl friends, he doesn’t feel too bad because there’s this sliver of gold that he catches sight of every now and then and that’s a win too. At least that’s what Jonny likes to tell himself.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this :) please leave a comment and let me know


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, merry christmas to all of you and those who don't celebrate christmas, I still wish you a happy time and joy and all that stuff <3

Jonny has never been much of a party person. Of course, he has enjoyed his fair share of parties during his time at UND and even in High School every now and then, and he likes beer as much as the next guy, he really does, but he’s not much for dancing, and having half shouted conversations over shitty music gets exhausting after a while. For the most part of the night Jonny hangs out with Seabs and Duncs and their girlfriends, but after Seabs and Dayna leave, Duncs and Kelly-Rae bid their goodbyes pretty quickly too and while Patrick drops by every now and then to drunkenly yell into Jonny’s ear and proudly shove the necklace pendant into his face to prove that he hasn’t lost it yet (or at least that’s what Jonny suspects, because drunk Patrick is not that easy to understand), Jonny sort of fails at socializing.

At around 2 am Jonny makes his way to the bathroom, because either he is more drunk than he thought or his stomach has decided that the consumption of beer was no longer green lit for Jonny. It’s then, washing the taste of vomit out of his mouth that he realizes that he hasn’t seen Patrick within the last hour and while that could have several harmless reasons, like maybe Patrick has found someone to hook up with (Jonny doesn’t like that option much), or he’s started another drinking game with Hammer, or maybe has simply fallen asleep somewhere, Jonny’s got a weird feeling. So once he’s done in the bathroom he starts his quest of finding Patrick.

He doesn’t.

What he finds is a pile of clothes in the corner of the back porch, next to a mostly frozen flowerpot. The clothes Patrick has worn today, to be exact. Jonny sighs softly, picking them up, making sure to fish the cross necklace out and pocketing it. Then, for the lack of something better to do and the fact that the cold November night air helps clear his head, he sits down on one of the covered garden chairs. If Patrick is lucky he’ll reappear out here, somewhere in the dark garden and while it’s cold and very uncomfortable to say the least Jonny thinks it’d be preferable to popping up naked in the middle of his partying friends and teammates. Granted, alcohol has flown freely all night and maybe Patrick will be able to use that as an excuse, but it’s still not something Jonny would find particularly desirable.

While he waits, Jonny imagines that maybe Patrick has travelled somewhere nice. Somewhere comfortable, maybe home to his mom, maybe he’s visiting himself as a baby right now. Or maybe he’s helping tiny seven years old Patrick with his homework, like future Patricks will do with Jonny. Jonny really hopes it’s something like that, Patrick deserves it. It’s his birthday he should get to travel somewhere nice at least if he _has_ to travel at all. It doesn’t work like that though and Jonny is aware of that, it’s still nice to imagine it though, to wish for it.

“Hi, there.” A voice comes from his right, startling Jonny and he looks up, finding a girl, maybe a couple of years older than him, but not by much, smiling at him. She’s got brown long hair, painted red lips that match her top and a nice smile too. Jonny doesn’t know who she’s here with, who she knows, but she leans against the glass door in a way that suggests familiarity, like she isn’t here for the first time or at least isn’t shy about it if she is.

“Hi,” Jonny replies, shifting a little as she eyes him up and down for a couple of seconds,

“I’m Sophia,” she says, “You are Jonathan Toews, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jonny says after a moment. He knows of course that the chances of being recognized at a party in Chicago that mostly hockey players and people somewhat connected to them attend are fairly high, but he still isn’t really used to it and he doesn’t think that even once he is he’ll ever stop disliking it when people introduce themselves and Jonny to themselves in the same breath. It’s fine that they know who he is but he’d still prefer it if he’d get the chance to say his name himself. Makes the start of a conversation feel more natural and allows Jonny some sort of control. As it is he just attempts a smile, trying to come up with something to reply to Sophia, who is giving him an expectant look.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks eventually, wanting to bite his tongue the moment the words are out. It sounds rude. _He_ sounds rude and his mother would have one or two things to say about that. Jonny winces internally at the tirade of angry French he’d get an earful of.

Sophia lifts her eyebrows, but otherwise doesn’t let on if Jonny’s brusk tone has been in anyway off putting to her. “I was just wondering what you are doing out here? It’s pretty cold and your jacket doesn’t seem very warm.”

“It’s not that cold,” he says even though it is.

She just looks at him for a moment then she purses her lips, “Right. Okay then.” She turns around and just like that she is gone again. A wall of warm air comes from the inside replacing her presence only for a moment before the door is shut and Jonny is alone again. He smoothes his hands over the fabric of Patrick’s folded clothes in his lap and doesn’t say anything. He just waits. Because waiting is what Jonny does.

He’s sure Sophia is a lovely girl and she might even have been good company, but the way she had been talking, the way she had been holding herself were rather self-explanatory in regards of her intentions. Jonny isn’t arrogant enough to think that every girl he meets is interested in him, but he’s gotten pretty good at recognizing the beginning of flirting attempts over the years. The thing is, for all intents and purposes he’s always been single to the world and in the beginning when Jonny has had more trouble with identifying romantic or sexual interest in his conversation partners this had lead to some awkward misunderstandings and uncomfortable situations. Jonny doesn’t want to unintentionally lead people on, make them think there’s a chance where there is none, and if that sometimes leads to pissed off girls and talks about Jonny being rude, well, then that’s just how it is. So him indulging in the conversation, enjoying her company, it would have been unfair to her and awkward from his side at the very least and Jonny isn’t really in the mood for either. He just wants to sit here until Patrick comes back and then maybe they’ll go back inside spend some more time with their friends and celebrate Patrick turning nineteen.

 

**_ Jonny is 17 and Patrick is 30 _ **

It’s April 2006 and Jonny’s birthday is in two weeks, which he is looking forward to of course. Turning eighteen is big deal, but more importantly, the reason why Jonny is all giddy and filled with excitement two weeks _before_ his birthday, is that today marks the end of eleven months without Patrick. Eleven long long months that Jonny has been dreading ever since Patrick has had him add those dates to the list that Jonny is still carrying around with him in his wallet. And now that gap, that Patrick-less period of time, is coming to an end and Jonny couldn’t be happier. He has missed Patrick so much and today is finally the day he’ll get him back, even if it’s only for a couple of hours.

The last time Jonny had seen him eleven months ago had been just after Jonny’s seventeenth birthday, Patrick’s first visit after it. And finally on that day Patrick has had given in and finally agreed to fuck Jonny, like Jonny has been asking him to for years. Jonny sort of hopes that maybe Patrick will do it again today, because eleven months, after finally getting a taste of what sex really is, of having something other than his own hand and his own fingers, is a damn long time.

He tries not to think about it too much though, not right now as he’s walking side by side with TJ on the way to their respective next classes. Popping a boner now would be very uncomfortable for Jonny and probably every onlooker as well.

“Hey, Jonny,” TJ interrupts Jonny’s train of thoughts, just as they pass a group of guys Jonny vaguely remembers from a party they’ve been to last week.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking.” TJ continues giving Jonny a lopsided grin when he turns to look at him.

“Well good job on that, bro,” Jonny comments, “You know that’s what you’ve been supposed to do all year in class but better late than never, right?”

TJ doesn’t seem the least bothered, he never is, which makes it so hard to tease him. He’s too easy going and self-aware for that. It’s something Jonny admires at times, this devil may care attitude, when it’s not driving him nuts, that is.

“I’m a great student, we all know that,” TJ waves his hand at Jonny, “But listen, what I’ve been thinking about is that I’ve got a guy in my general studies class and-”

Jonny raises his eyebrows, “A guy?” he repeats making air quotes with his fingers. Something about the way TJ has said it feels like he’s implying something that Jonny is supposed to get by his tone, but Jonny has no idea what it is.

TJ levels him a meaningful look, “A _gay_ guy.”

Jonny just stares at him. TJ stares back, as if Jonny is supposed to get what TJ is trying to tell him by telling him he knows a gay guy.

“So?” Jonny asks impatiently when there little staring contest leads to no conclusion, “What about him?”

“I thought I could introduce you guys,” TJ explains, in a tone of voice that says pretty clearly how obvious that should have been to Jonny, “To each other.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Jonny blinks, “…why?”

Judging by the look that earns him from TJ, there’s got to be something Jonny is missing here, some key information for this conversation to make sense in anyway. It’s becoming increasingly frustrating for Jonny.

“Well, because.” TJ says, which in itself is spectacularly unhelpful, but something about the expression displayed on his face makes the penny drop nonetheless.

Jonny gapes at him, temporary at a loss for words.

“TJ,” he says slowly after a moment, “I’m… I’m not gay.” He doesn’t say how even if he was, introducing him to a random guy on the simple notion of them both being gay, would not be something Jonny would be particularly interested in. He doesn’t run around trying to play matchmaker for TJ with every heterosexual female he meets either, does he?

TJ responds with a frown and a confused, “You aren’t?”

“No,” Jonny says, feeling increasingly irritated. He and TJ have never had a conversation that had lead anywhere close to discussing who Jonny might be interested in, so he has no idea where his friend has gotten this idea from.

“Oh. Oops.” TJ shrugs, apparently very much unbothered by the fact that he’s been trying to set Jonny up while operating under a false set of assumptions. Another beat of silence, and then TJ turns to him, brows drawn together, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, what the fuck.” Jonny snaps, glaring at TJ, who holds up his hands in defence and responds by pulling a face.

“Relax, man.” He says flicking his tongue, “It’s not like I accused you of sleeping with my sister. Besides, it’s okay, you know? Liking dudes.”

“I- I _know_ that it’s okay.” Jonny says quickly, throwing a glance over his shoulder, they’ve almost made it to the classroom of TJ’s general studies class and there are a lot of people lounging around that know both TJ _and_ Jonny. He lowers his voice a few notches. “I’m just not gay. And how did you even come to that conclusion? I mean…”

He trails off, feeling himself blush a little. He’s not embarrassed, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about after all. He’s not gay and even if he was it’d be okay. Jonny knows that. What he doesn’t like though, what makes him feel slightly uncomfortable, is that TJ has clearly thought about this, about Jonny and then formed his opinions about Jonny without any conscious input from him. And that’s- Jonny is unsure how he feels about that. He’s always thought with being a private person, being quiet about most things and not giving much away he would avoid things like this, speculations but apparently he’s been wrong. Apparently being quiet gets you exactly one thing and that is people filling your silence with what they think fits, without your contribution.

TJ tilts his head, seemingly taking his time to contemplate his answer.

“Look, bro,” he begins eventually, “I’m a class A wingman. I’m fucking godlike, don’t even deny it. But you never hook up. I’ve known you for almost a year now, Jonny, and you never once left with a girl. Like, dude, I basically delivered you the most gorgeous girls in a 20 miles radius on a silver platter and you just walked away. You make awkward small talk and then you just-” he makes an elaborate hand gesture that Jonny has no idea how to construe.

Jonny shifts uncomfortably, “I told you they weren’t my type,” he mutters. Even though some of them have been. Jonny likes girls. He’s jerked off thinking about girls, has watched porn with girls in it and even had a sex dream about one of his female teachers at Shattuck once. So Jonny does appreciate girls. He’s just not interested in hooking up with them, even if his dick might be. It would feel like cheating.

The sceptical eyebrow raise he gets from TJ in return has Jonny turn even redder.

“Not your type? None of them?” TJ shakes his head, “No one is that picky, bro. And besides, that time Lauren dared you and me to make out at Mike’s party the other day, because you know chicks are into that I guess, well… you definitely seemed to have _liked_ that…”

Jonny thinks if it was possible to die of embarrassment he’d be dead as soon as TJ finishes his sentences. He doesn’t remember much of that party, but he does remember kissing TJ, Lauren and her friends hooting and someone handing him a shot as a reward afterwards. He also dimly recalls getting hard but he had hoped that TJ hadn’t noticed and when TJ had proceeded to get it on with Lauren just five minutes later Jonny had just assumed that his inconvenient boner had luckily gone unnoticed. Apparently that had been a wrong assumption from Jonny’s side.

“Oh my god,” Jonny groans, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, it’s chill, Jonny,” TJ laughs and pats Jonny’s shoulder, apparently still very much unbothered, “It’s quite flattering really.”

“It’s not-” Jonny gets out haltingly, “I’m not- I’m not _into_ you, TJ.” He stares at his friends, “It was just-” he gestures vaguely, half-heartedly wishing he could have thought of a way to explain this before opening his mouth but now he’s midway in a sentence so he’s got to pull through somehow, “You know, I haven’t… in a while… and- Well, I- Kissing is nice and physical reactions and- I was just-”

“No need to defend your boner to me, man. We’ve all been there.” TJ cuts him off, shrugging, “I get that you aren’t into me, but I thought hey maybe that’s it, you are into dudes so maybe the problem was that I introduced you to ladies, not dudes. Which is fixable. Because I am… flexible.” He makes fingerguns.

“You don’t need to introduce me to _anyone_.” Jonny replies firmly.

TJ dismisses him with a wave of his hand, “I kind of do, apparently, so help me out. What’s your deal? Not gay, noted. But you were into kissing me, a guy. So… bi? Or like…what’s that word? Pan? Or are you still figuring shit out? Or…” he taps his chin with one finger, a mock expression of the thinking face he sometimes puts on in class to make Jonny laugh, “…you are not saving yourself for marriage, are you?”

Jonny sighs, “Look, does it matter?” He would really like for this conversation to have been over like yesterday, but TJ obviously has other plans.

“No, of course not,” TJ shrugs, while Jonny wonders why, if that were true, they still weren’t done with this topic, “I don’t care what gender the people have that get your dick hard, I just thought perhaps you need help finding someone to…you know…get your dick hard. Other than me of course.”

“I- I’m-” Jonny splutters, tripping over his own tongue as he tries and fails to cut him off. He really doesn’t want TJ to go into detail about Jonny popping a boner for him or why he thinks Jonny needs help finding someone for anything dick related, due to his own incapability to do so himself. It’s not like Jonny disagrees, he’s pretty sure he’d be less than absolutely fucking terrible at the whole flirting business, because thankfully he’s never really had to do that with Patrick, but it’s just not something he’s comfortable with discussing. But he figures he needs to give TJ at least some sort of an explanation.

“Maybe…” he says carefully, rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans, “Maybe I’m into girls _and_ guys. Maybe that’s a thing for me. But maybe I’m also a sort of soon-to-be professional athlete…. Who is about to make a living in a sport that maybe isn’t the most accepting of guys liking guys. So...” Jonny clears his throat. He’s thought about it occasionally, other boys –of course he has, he’s a teenager and sex is pretty much on his mind 24/7 while his boyfriend is very out of reach most of the time- but there’d always been this awareness that even if it weren’t for Patrick and Jonny’s devotion to him Jonny still wouldn’t act on those desires, because in the end, it’s hockey first. Always. “So I’m sure the guy from your class-” he continues.

“Kyle,” TJ chirps in in.

Jonny rolls his eyes, “I’m sure _Kyle_ is a great dude, but even if I was looking, it wouldn’t be worth the risk.”

“What do you mean ‘ _if_ you were looking’?” TJ actually sounds flabbergasted, apparently finally picking up on Jonny being serious about this, about not being interested in Kyle or those girls at those parties.

Jonny bites his lips, he shrugs sheepishly, feeling a little embarrassed. “It means that I’m not looking.”

“Like… not at all? That’s lonely, man.” And there it is. Pity. TJ is looking at Jonny with that look in his eyes that Jonny knows too well. TJ is feeling sorry for him, probably thinks that Jonny is saying he’s not looking because he’s ashamed, because maybe he can’t pick up girls (or guys), because he doesn’t have any game, or because maybe Jonny is a fumbling virgin who’s too scared to have anything happen and claiming to not be looking is just him putting on a brave face. He’s had ‘friends’ back in boarding school, who assumed that, who made up stories about Jonny, finding reasons for why he was so prude, or uptight, or whatever adjective they had found fitting that day. Jonny has had to learn for some reason, if you are a guy in your late teens, an athlete at that, presumably the stereotypical jock, it seems to bother people when you don’t actually play the part of the ‘want-to-fuck-everything-that-has-tits-and-moves-guy’. Jonny’s had a girl slap him because she got mad at him when he hadn’t wanted her to suck his dick after a won game, where he scored two goals. Jonny’s had a ‘buddy’ laugh at his face and call him a fag when Jonny had declined a hand job offer from his drunk ass step sister. TJ hasn’t seemed like the type so far and he doesn’t know but Jonny can’t help the wariness setting in his jaw.

“I guess, yeah.” Jonny eventually says, making an effort to display casual indifference. It _is_ lonely. Of course it is, because Jonny doesn’t hook up or doesn’t get into a relationship because he doesn’t want to. He does, he would love to have someone who’s hand he could hold, who he could kiss and sleep next to. Someone to fuck and to love and to _be_ with. Jonny wants that so much and the wonderful and yet terrible thing is that he’s got it, every now and then, every few weeks, few months, for a few hours, maybe half a day, he’s got it. He’s got Patrick. He’s got a boyfriend. In those moments Jonny isn’t lonely or sad or pathetic or whatever everyone thinks off him. In those moments he’s happy and not at all alone. And most of all, he is loved.

But he can’t tell TJ that.

“It’s fine, though.” Jonny adds after another moment of TJ looking at him like Jonny has just confessed to never having pet a puppy, “It’s not going to be forever.”

To Jonny’s surprise TJ just nods, looking thoughtful but taking Jonny’s half answer for what it is and doesn’t press him to explain why Jonny if he like he said really is into girls doesn’t just go for it, why none of the girly have been his type and why he would do this to himself, just enduring the loneliness instead of doing something about it.

“It’s your call.” He simply says, “Pretty cool actually. More for me.” he grins and wiggles his eyebrows at Jonny. It’s an obvious attempt at lightening the mood, probably because Jonny’s discomfort is so blatantly obvious. Jonny can’t help but snort, giving TJ a slight shove. He’s so lucky to have TJ as a friend.

“Yeah, right.” Jonny shakes his head, “We all know you’d marry Lauren right this second if she’d only say yes.”

“You know it, bro.” TJ replies with an unashamed grin, “Gotta convince her to be my girlfriend first but, you know, I’m reaching for the stars.” He winks.

“If she’s got even a tiny bit of brains in that head of hers, she’ll make you hers.” Jonny says honestly. So far Lauren hasn’t struck Jonny as particularly interested in a relationship though, which is a shame. Jonny thinks anyone would be lucky to be loved by TJ. For just a moment Jonny wonders if maybe he’d have a crush on him if it weren’t for Patrick. Maybe. A part of him can picture it.

“She _did_ let me make out with her, after I kissed you.” TJ points out, pulling Jonny back to reality, “I’m counting that as a win. And I think she smiled at me when I saw her at Starbucks the other day,” he pauses, then, with a grin on his face, he adds, “Anyway, so just checking, but if it’d help me with Lauren, would you be willing to-”

Jonny laughs and boxes TJ in the shoulder, “Dude, no! I’m not going to make out with you again, just because it gets your future wife going for whatever reason.”

This time it’s TJ’s turn to snort, just before he blows Jonny a kiss, “Ah Jonathan, I’m not gonna lie, it was kinda hot. You know what to do with that tongue of yours and I wouldn’t mind-”

“I am going to murder you.” Jonny groans, but unable to fight the urge to smile completely.

“Nah, you love me.” TJ says serenely, just as his Professor passes them, walking into the lecture hall that TJ should have probably entered about 5 minutes ago. TJ pulls a face and salutes Jonny, before slipping into the room as well, leaving Jonny behind in the hallway.

“ _I_ am going to murder him.”

Jonny spins around and his heart stops. There, leaning casually against the wall, with his arms crossed is Patrick, glowering at the space where the back of TJ’s head had been up until a few moments ago. He’s wearing a hoody that’s a bit short at the arms, with the hood pulled up and a pair if neon-green sunglasses. The look is completed by a pair of grey sweatpants and flip flops that Jonny vaguely recalls belonging to one of the girls from the B dorm.

“Patrick,” Jonny chokes out, momentarily frozen. He should get going, he should get to his own class, he’s already late, but- it’s Patrick. Patrick is finally here after eleven months and there is no way, no way that Jonny is going to sit in a classroom listening to a lecture about whatever when Patrick is right here, in the same time as Jonny after far too many months.

“Hey, Jonny,” Patrick says softly, taking off his ridiculous sunglasses, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Jonny can only nod, taking a tentative step forward. He wants to kiss Patrick, he wants to kiss him right here and now, press him against the wall and slip his hands under that ugly jumper or better yet, maybe Patrick will press Jonny against the wall, push his knee between Jonny’s thighs, kiss his neck and suddenly every thought of TJ, every thought in general, that isn’t Patrick, Patrick, Patrick is gone from Jonny’s head.

“Yeah, I figured.” Patrick replies, reaching out to tug Jonny closer, by hooking his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, “I appeared in your dorm room. Took me a moment to figure out where I was, fucking UND. But then I remembered you telling me about those months, about you, seventeen, waiting for me to come back to you after months of nothing and I…” He licks his lips, looking up at Jonny through his eyelashes, “I couldn’t just wait around. I needed to find you, Little Jonny.”

Jonny can’t help but shudder, skin feeling electrified by the sudden proximity, standing there, only a few inches away from Patrick. It would be so easy to just close the distance, to just lean down and fit his mouth against Patrick’s. He’s right there, his lips shiny from licking them, a slight stubble grazing his chin and Jonny wants-

“Hey, Toews, who’s your friend?”

Jonny freezes and Patrick’s eyes snap up, focussing on someone who must be standing right behind Jonny.

It’s Mark, a guy from his econ class, Jonny realizes as he slowly turns around, finding Mark and two of his friends eying Jonny and Patrick curiously.

“What’s it to you?” Jonny says. In the corner of his eyes Jonny can see Patrick raising his eyebrows, probably surprised by Jonny’s rudeness. But Patrick doesn’t know how big of jerks these guys are and how Jonny’s rudeness is still more than they deserve. Maybe, Jonny should be thankful though, he’s been note more than a second away from kissing Patrick right in this corridor and that only minutes after he had explained to TJ why his attraction to guys was better kept secret.

“Just wondering, man.” Mark shrugs, trying to peek around Jonny to get a better look at Patrick, who would seem mostly unbothered if it weren’t for the tension in his shoulders as he’s assessing the situation, “Am I trippin’ or are you really hanging around with someone that’s not that Oshie guy? Better take a picture for the yearbook.” He nudges one of his friends, who lets out a bark of laughter like Mark has just made the joke of the century.

Jonny proceeds to just glare at him. He’s not the best at witty comebacks and experience tells him that he’s better off not talking to those guys anyway.

“Oookay,” Patrick chimes in after approximately 1 and a half minutes of staring contest, “This has been a real pleasure, but Jonathan here and I, sadly have something else to do apart from enjoying your company. So unless any of you got something to say…” he trails off, as if he’s daring one of the guys to say something, but by some miracle none of them do and Patrick smirks, glancing at Jonny, “No? Let’s get going then.” He says, nodding down the corridor.

“I hate those guys,” Jonny mutters as he’s following Patrick with quick strides out of the building.

Patrick chuckles, brushing his hand against Jonny’s, “Really? I couldn’t tell, Mr. Death-Glare.”

“Mark’s a fucking tool. And the other two aren’t much better. They-” Jonny says a little defensively even though Patrick seems very much unbothered. He’s about to go off and tell Patrick about how Mark likes to hook up with chicks his buddies deem as ugly as dares, how he laughs about them when they actually fall for it, for him wanting them. About how those guys who were with Mark just now have messed with Jonny’s hockey equipment more than once because they claimed he’d _looked_ at them in the locker room. But then another thought hits him.

“Shit, Pat, they-” Jonny cuts himself off, “They _saw_ you. Is that bad? Is that- You-”

They are hockey people too, is the thing, and while Jonny doesn’t know anything precise yet, he has harboured the growing suspicion that Patrick and him would meet through hockey for a while now. And if that proves true, then this little confrontation just now has the potential to be a problem in some cosmic don’t fuck with the order of things time travel law kind of way.

“It’s all good, Jonny.” Patrick says calmly as usually able to tell what Jonny is trying by the few cut off attempts he manages to get out, “All good. They, that bunch of dickheads, are utterly unimportant. And even if they weren’t, I’m more than a decade older than your time me. No one’s gonna make that connection. Trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Good,” Patrick smiles, “Now how about we go back to your dorm and I teach you what rimming is.”

Jonny almost chokes on his own breath, feeling himself go beet red within seconds, “I know what rimming is,” he splutters. He’s watched porn. He’s not an idiot.

“Do you, now?” Patrick smirks sounding not the least surprised, “Do you also know that your glorious ass was made for my tongue? How much you love it when I take you apart with it?”

“Patrick,” Jonny breathes, having to reach down to adjust himself in his pants. He’d be embarrassed how quickly Patrick’s words can get him hard, but there’s no space left for that in his brain.

“I’m gonna take you to your dorm now, Jonny.” Patrick says, leaning in so he can whisper into Jonny’s ear, making him shudder at the sensation of his lips brushing against his ear, “And I’m going to spread you out on your bed and I’m going to eat you out. TJ said you know what to do with that tongue of yours? Guess what, you can’t even imagine what _I_ can do with mine. And when I’m done, when I made you come with just my mouth I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to fuck you so good, because you deserve it, Jonny.” Patrick exhales, warm breath hitting Jonny’s neck, feeling like fire and ice all at once, “Because you’ve been so good for me, baby. Eleven fucking months. You’ve been so good so I’m going to make you feel good.”

And that is exactly what he does and Jonny doesn’t think about kissing TJ or anyone else again for the rest of the term.

***

 

**_ November 2007, Jonny is 19 and Patrick is 19 _ **

**__ **

When the patio door opens a second time, barely ten minutes later, Jonny half expects it to be Sophia or some other girl again, but when he looks up he finds Sharpy seizing him up and down with an amused expression on his face.

“So that’s where the party is? On my back porch?” he asks shooting Jonny glancing back inside as he plops down in the covered lawn chair next to him, “Should have invited me, Tazer. This rocks.” He jokingly raises beer in mock salute, before taking a sip.

Jonny just shrugs, not bothering with an answer. He knows Sharpy is just teasing him for being a loner, ditching the party inside to hang out here alone like the no-fun-person he is and he knows he should laugh it off and he would, he’s gotten better at not taking chirps too seriously, especially not from Sharpy, but right now he just isn’t in the mood. There’s too much going on in his head. Patrick still isn’t back and Jonny is getting antsy.

“Sophia says you were being a dick,” Sharpy continues, “Which, by the way, dishonouring to all us Canadians, I don’t know if I can approve on that. Do I have to schedule an intervention?”

“I wasn’t being a dick,” Jonny protests half-heartedly, although, not only in retrospect, he might have been a little bit of a dick. Judging from the look Sharpy gives him, he thinks so too, “I’m just not in the mood for company.”

Sharpy clutches his chest and gasps in mock affront, “You wound me, Tazer.” He says, “Is this your subtle attempt at letting me know you want me to fuck off? If so, I’ll have to let you know I do not respond well to subtleness.”

“It’s your house, man.” Jonny shrugs, “You can do what you want.” Technically, he doesn’t mind Sharpy being here. Sharpy is always good company and despite him being massively irritating and annoying at times, especially when he and Burr decide to pull pranks on Jonny again (seriously those guys are in their mid-twenties, what the fuck), he’s also one of the guys from the team that Jonny considers himself closer to. He’s a good guy and behind all that light heartedness, joker demeanour, there’s a whole lot of caring and dedication. And if Jonny can respect one thing then it’s that.

Sharpy only nods in response but doesn’t show any signs of leaving, instead he settles further into his lawn chair, letting his eyes wander through the dark garden. For a moment they are both quiet, nothing but the cold November night air and the muffled noise from the party inside between them.

“Do you, by any chance, know where Peeks has disappeared to?” Sharpy asks after a moment.

“No,” Jonny answers, maybe a little too quickly. He’s not lying. He _isn’t_. He doesn’t know where Patrick has disappeared to. He could be anywhere, or rather, could be any-when (Jonny doubts that even is a word), at any time. He just knows that he’s gone. For all intents and purposes he knows as much as Sharpy about Patrick’s whereabouts when it comes to location and time. If Sharpy would have asked, however, about the reason for Patrick’s absence from his own birthday party, that would be a different story.

Nonetheless, something about Jonny’s answer has Sharpy frown, squinting at him with a thoughtful expression grazing his features. “So, I’m guessing you sitting all alone out here with a lapful of our sweet Peekaboo’s clothes, is just, what? A coincidence?” He tilts his head.

Jonny flushes at that, eyes immediately travelling down to said bundle of clothes. Maybe he should have wrapped them in his own jacket, to avoid this very situation. He really needs to learn to think ahead if he wants to be of some sort of help for Patrick. It’s too late now though, nothing Jonny can do.

“Easy easy, Tazer.” Sharpy laughs, “If you kill me with your laser eyes we’re gonna have a slight roster problem. Just tell Uncle Sharpy, what are you crazy kids up to? You two got some kind of bet going? Or a dare? Gotta be honest, didn’t peck you for the type.”

Jonny mentally groans at Sharpy referring to himself as ‘Uncle Sharpy’ but otherwise doesn’t get a chance to answer or react in any way, which for one thing would be good since he has no idea what answer would be the smartest and most believable in this moment, if it weren’t for the fact that what buys Jonny out of answering is Patrick appearing out of thin air, crashing onto the grass just in front of Sharpy’s patio, mere meters away from them. It’s not the first time that Jonny has seen a Patrick appear in front of him and usually it’s more gentle, calmer despite it only taking the blink of an eye. Patrick isn’t slowly materializing. He’s just there when a moment ago he hasn’t been. But now, this, it’s _crashing_. It’s violent, it’s like Patrick has been falling and this is him hitting the ground. Hard.

Jonny is up in an instant, skipping the stairs entirely so he can get to Patrick, who’s curled up on the frozen grass, as fast as possible. When he gets to him, Patrick barely groans, not even looking at Jonny, his skin ice cold to Jonny’s touch. Ice cold and wet. And so is his hair. Where ever Patrick has travelled too, it hasn’t been nice and pleasant like Jonny has hoped, that much is clear.

“Patrick,” Jonny calls urgently, putting one hand to his cheek in an attempt to get him to look at him. He does, but the first few seconds his gaze is glassy at best and Jonny isn’t sure if Patrick doesn’t see right through him. Then his eyes focus and something between a gasp and wince falls from his trembling blue lips. It might be Jonny’s name but the shivers racking through Patrick’s entire body disrupt it into a stutter that doesn’t offer up much for interpretation. It doesn’t matter anyway, all that Jonny cares about is that Patrick is back and Patrick needs help, because Patrick is freezing, might be hypothermic. “Fuck, Pat, look at me, please.” He pleads when Patrick’s eyelids drop again. Jonny has no idea what’s going on, what he should do, how he could or rather should help Patrick, but he’s got a bad feeling about letting him fall asleep now. Wasn’t there something about people who get stuck out in the cold shouldn’t fall asleep? Fuck, Jonny’s learned that stuff in class but right now his head is as empty as Patrick is cold.

“I- I- I thought-” Patrick mumbles through clattering teeth, speech slightly slurred, “I thought I was gonna-”

“It’s okay.” Jonny says, quickly, somehow managing to get one arm around Patrick’s torso, trying not to flinch at the utter absence of body warmth seeping through Jonny’s clothes from Patrick’s body. He slings Patrick’s arm over his shoulder, eventually getting up, fully supporting Patrick’s weight, who seems barely able to keep himself upright. “You are okay, it’s all good. You are here, you are back. You are okay.”

“I th- I thought- I thought I was gonna die, I thought-” Patrick gasps, failing to take a step with Jonny, which causes them both to almost topple over. Jonny wants to do nothing more than wrap Patrick up in his arms, hold him tight and warm until he stops shivering, stops feeling like a corpse, but he knows he needs to get Patrick inside first. There’s no use trying to warm him up sitting outside at sub-zero temperatures.

“What the fuck?” Sharpy is standing frozen at the edge of the porch, staring at Jonny and Patrick, mouth slightly open and eyes wide. He looks completely and utterly shocked and more than anything confused and disbelieving. Jonny can almost see the gears turning in his head, him trying to find a logical explanation or what he’s just witnessed, his mind desperately searching for a loophole that would allow Sharpy to accept this as possible. This being his friend and teammate literally showing up out of nowhere, naked and freezing.

It’s how Jonny thinks he himself would have reacted if he hadn’t been a child that first time, if he hadn’t grown up with _this_ being part of his life.

“Sharpy,” Jonny says, making the split-second decision to ignore any questions Sharpy might have or what aftermath this situation might have for Patrick come tomorrow. He needs to help Patrick now and he can’t do it alone, so Sharpy would just have to suck it up and get his shit together, because Jonny needs his help. Or rather Patrick does, “Listen to me. I need to get Patrick inside. Is there-” he glances towards the door to the still crowded living room, “Is there another way to get him inside? I- We need to get him warmed up.”

Sharpy just blankly stares at him. “I…”

“Sharpy!” Jonny hisses, impatiently. Patrick has given upon any attempt of standing at his own strength, completely leaning on Jonny now. While Patrick might be significantly shorter than Jonny it’s not enough for Jonny to be able to simply carry Patrick inside.

“Right,” Sharpy snaps to attention, blank expression overwritten by alarm and attention. He’s at Jonny’s side within seconds, supporting Patrick from the other side, “C’mon there’s a side door. We can get him upstairs from there.”

They make it upstairs, without being seen, but only barely. The whole time Patrick doesn’t stop shivering, clammy fingers digging into Jonny’s arm where he’s trying to hold on so he won’t fall, but there’s almost no strength to his grip.

“The bathroom?” Jonny asks, remembering in the back of his mind something about underfloor heating, Sharpy might have mentioned getting installed.

“Yeah,” Sharpy nods and together they manoeuvre Patrick into the master bathroom, where Jonny promptly grabs one of the fluffy giant towels and drapes it over Patrick’s trembling shoulders.

“What the hell is going on, Tazer?” Sharpy pushes, just as Patrick is sinking down, back to the side of the tub and arms wrapped around his knees, in a desperate attempt to protect what little warmth his body has managed to hold onto. “What the fuck? Talk to me.”

“I have no idea, what you mean, Sharpy.” Jonny says through gritted teeth, kneeling in front of Patrick, rubbing his shoulders for the lack of a better idea. Fuck he’s still so cold. There are slowly melting tiny ice crystals in his hair.

“No id-” Sharpy seems to be choking on his own tongue, “Fuck you, Jonny, I’m talking about Peekaboo here going full Harry fucking Potter on us!”

“You are drunk.” Jonny says flatly just as Patrick lets out a whimper having all of Jonny’s snap back to him.

“Not that drunk...” Sharpy mumbles, but when Jonny shoots a glance over his shoulder he finds Sharpy staring at Patrick, worry dominating the confusion in his eyes.

“I’m so cold, Jonny.” Patrick whispers, right on cue another shiver going through him that makes the words almost unintelligible, “I’m so f-fucking cold.”

“We are going to get you warmed up, Pat.” Jonny says quickly, trying to sound reassuring and calm even though he feels everything but. “We are going to- uh. Okay, okay…” Jonny looks around helplessly, trying to come up with a game plan.

“Okay,” Sharpy echoes, scratching his head, before giving Jonny a quick pat on the shoulder and quickly making his way to the door, “Don’t move. Hold on. I’m gonna-”

He doesn’t finish, just pulls the door shut behind himself and going off to do god knows what, Jonny doesn’t know, doesn’t care. Sharpy’s antics are the least of his concern right now.

“Shit, Patrick…” Jonny mumbles taking one of Patrick’s icy hands in his, trying to warm his fingers up with his own body heat, “Where were you? What happened?”

It takes a long moment until Patrick seems to be able to answer and even than it’s hard to understand him “I was- I was in- in a lake,” he gets out and Jonny winces internally at the way his teeth clatter. His jaw must be aching by now. “I think I was- it was so cold, Jonny and I- I thought I was going to fucking drown or freeze to death. It was so dark, n-night I think and I couldn’t see the shore and I was- It was so cold, I was so scared. Jonny, I thought I was going to drown. I thought-”

He doesn’t get to say more and Jonny doesn’t get to respond because in that moment the bathroom door swings open revealing Sharpy and his girlfriend Abby, both with a more than concerned expression on their faces.

“Oh Kaner, honey,” Abby says, as she gets to her knees, shooing Jonny out of the way, so she can put her fingers to his throat –checking his pulse- Jonny realizes after a moment.

“What the hell, Sharpy?” Jonny asks helplessly, while Abby checks Patrick’s eyes for god knows what.

Sharpy doesn’t take his eyes from Abby and Patrick, but answers nevertheless, “I don’t know what’s going on and you might not want to tell me,” he says, “but Peeks looks fucking hypothermic, which I by the way have no idea how he has accomplished when he could have been safe and sound celebrating his damn birthday in my living room, but my beloved beautiful girlfriend here just happens to be a nurse. So, ‘that the hell’, Tazer.”

Jonny’s gaze flickers back to Abby and Patrick on the floor, where she’s got his face in her hands, gently talking to him in a low voice with more calm than Jonny thinks he’ll be able to administer in the next twenty years from now. She’s a nurse. Sharpy is right, Jonny knew that, how could he not make that connection. She’s taking care of Patrick, she’s making sure he’s alright. She’s helping. Sharpy is helping. Jonny isn’t alone with this.

“I…” Jonny begins at a loss for words, “…thank you, Sharpy. I’m… thanks.”

Sharpy shakes his head, “He’s my rookie, man. And my friend. You are not the only one who cares about him.”

“I know that.” Jonny protests weakly, but Sharpy just offers him a dismissive hum in response.

“Okay, boys,” Abby suddenly says, straightening herself and giving both Jonny and Sharpy a stern look, “I don’t want to know what you’ve been up to or how this has happened, but fact is that Kaner does in fact suffer from hypothermia right now. So we absolutely need to get him warmed up. The best call would be a warm bath I think.” She gestures for Jonny and he scrambles to get to the tub’s faucet, “Warm, Jonny.” She stresses, “Not hot. Between lukewarm and warm for the start. We can increase the temperature gradually.”

Jonny frowns at her. They need to get Patrick warm as fast as possible, it doesn’t make sense for them to draw out the process, “But-” he begins, but is quickly interrupted by Abby.

“I know your first instinct is to get him warmed up as quickly as you can. I understand that, but that might cause more problems than it would solve.” She explains, “You see, internal organs are very sensitive to physical shock so it’s important that he doesn’t warm up _too_ quickly. That means for us, not too hot water and keeping him as inactive as the situation allows, so the cold blood from his extremities doesn’t reach his core too quickly when his heart rate starts to increase again to its normal level. Because that in return lowers his core temperature again, which is the exact opposite of what we want.”

“Oh,” Jonny says softly, feeling Sharpy’s ‘I told you it was a smart idea to get my awesome girlfriend here’ look in his neck, “Okay. Okay, yeah.”

Thankfully it doesn’t take long for Sharpy’s bathtub to fill up, thanks to the large amount of money he has probably spend on it. Jonny checks the temperature a couple of times with his hand, before turning back to Patrick, who’s curled up with Abby’s arms around him, face pressed into his drawn up knees.

“Hey, Pat, c’mon. You are okay.” Jonny says, trying to not let how scared he is show in his voice, “We need to get you into the bath. To get you warm, yes?”

“I thought I was going to die.” Patrick whispers again, voice raspy and brittle but already less slurred than when he has first reappeared.

Jonny doesn’t know what to say.

“Patrick?” Abby says and it takes Jonny a moment to realize she is talking to Sharpy not Jonny’s Patrick, “Baby, could you go downstairs and make some tea for Kaner? It’ll help us warm him from the inside as well.”

Sharpy just nods and disappears through the door while Abby helps Jonny pulling Patrick to his feet. He sways a bit, but with Jonny’s help he stays upright.

“Honey, do your fingers hurt? Your feet?” she asks, Patrick gently as they help him to sit down on the edge of the tub, slowly shifting until he can dip his toes into the lukewarm water.

“No,” Patrick shakes his head, “They- they did but it stopped after a while. Just numb now ‘m not really feeling them.”

“Okay, okay, that’s alright, honey.” Abby cups Patrick’s cheek briefly, giving him a soothing smile, “The feeling is going to come back once we get you a bit warmer. It may hurt at first, but that’s good, because that means there’s blood flow.”

Patrick barely nods and the next few minutes are spend helping him to slowly and carefully sit down in the bath, it’s a process, but eventually they manage and when Patrick’s all settled in, engulfed to the chin by the warm water he actually looks like some sort of colour might be returning to his cheeks, replacing the sickly waxen grey. Patrick lets out a soft sigh and closes his eyes.

Jonny allows himself to watch him for a moment before turning around to face Abby who is already looking at him.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” Jonny says quietly, “Once he gets warm? Or do we… should we take him to a hospital?”

It speaks for how out of it Patrick still is, that he doesn’t get in Jonny’s face for talking about him like Patrick can’t hear him. As it is the only person to respond to Jonny is the one who he was actually talking to, Patrick doesn’t even turn to look at them.

“He’s alert and responsive.” Abby says, “He’s not disoriented. That’s good and even if he doesn’t feel his toes, he could wiggle them. I think if we just continue warming him up gradually while keeping an eye on him he should be fine.”

“Okay,” Jonny nods, expecting Abby to go downstairs and check on how Sharpy is doing on the tea front, but instead she slides down next to Jonny, nudging him with her shoulder. She’s got her brows drawn together in an expression of worry, but her hand on his arm is soothing and Jonny can feel himself relax into her touch. He hasn’t noticed until now that his heartbeat is calming down but apparently ever since Patrick has reappeared his heart has been hammering like crazy against his ribs. He feels exhausted suddenly.

“Jonny,” she whispers, gently, “What happened? How did Kaner manage to get hypothermia at his birthday party? Why was he naked in the garden?” she pauses for a moment, like she’s carefully thinking about her next words, “Jonny, he said he thought he was going to die? What’s going on?”

“I can’t.” Jonny replies after a moment because it’s the only answer he can give. “I can’t- I don’t know what to tell you.”

It’s not his secret to tell, not his ‘condition’ or however the Kanes had called it. It’s not his to explain and he wouldn’t even know how. Abby is nice, sure, he likes her from the handful of times he’s met her and she’s helping them out big time, but what is Jonny supposed to tell her? That Patrick is a time traveller? That he apparently travelled into the middle of a freezing lake and almost drowned?

Like she would believe him. Like any sane person would.

Coincidentally or by some cosmic miracle Sharpy chooses that exact moment to return to the bathroom, a mug of steaming tea in his hands.

“Here you go, Peeksie,” he says, turning to Jonny next. “We are going to talk about this.”

Jonny barely nods, while Patrick doesn’t react at all, carefully taking a tiny sip from his mug. Abby sighs having a silent exchange with Sharpy through their eyes, before getting to her feet. “Not tonight.” She says, “C’mon Patrick, let’s get the guest bedroom ready.”

 

***

 

“I really thought I was going to drown in that lake,” Patrick says quietly. He’s cocooned in a couple of blankets, sitting on the bed in Sharpy’s guest bedroom while Jonny is awkwardly standing around, unsure if he’s welcome to stay or if he should leave. He just knows that the thought of leaving Patrick alone now has him feeling sick to his stomach. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how cold Patrick’s skin has felt, how pale he has been. Judging by the tone of Patrick’s voice, he won’t either. “I really thought that was going to be it, that I was going to die in some random ass lake, god knows where.”

“But you didn’t.” Jonny says after taking a moment to collect himself, putting on a face that he hopes conveys reassurance and confidence, “You travelled back. It’s all good.”

“Yeah,” Patrick nods, but his voice is less convincing than the look on his voice, as he lets out a sigh, sneaking a hand out of his cocoon to rub his face. Jonny sits down tentatively on the corner of the bed. “I’ve never-” Patrick continues after a few beats, “I’ve been in some shitty situations before because of the travelling, but I’ve never felt like this might be it.” He shoots Jonny a glance, “When I was in the water I… The only thing I could think about was that my sisters were right, you know? This shit is going to get me killed.”

“But you didn’t.” Jonny interrupts him, “You are alive. You are okay. You are-”

“ _This_ time.” Patrick argues, without any real sharpness behind his objection, “Maybe I really end up travelling at to the wrong moment and end up in front of a bus and I- I’m just- I’m gonna be dead. Just like that in some freaking time that isn’t even my own after living what? Half a life being tossed through space and time like some rag doll and that’s what I’m getting for it? I’m fucking nineteen, Jonny, I don’t want to die.”

Jonny shakes his head, “You won’t.” he says quickly, quietly. He hasn’t really thought about it before, hasn’t figured it out until now, but as he’s sitting here on the bed with Patrick having a minor but justified freak out, it’s dawning on him, “You won’t, Patrick.”

“You can’t know that, Jonny. I might end up on a freaking railway or whatever next time I travel and-”

“No, Pat, think about it.” Jonny says, fighting the urge to reach out and pull Patrick into his arms like future Patrick has done for him countless of times in the past to comfort him, “You’ve never travelled while we were on the team bus. Or during games, or from the plane. Think about it. Erica has talked about patterns, this is a pattern. There’s gotta be… I don’t know some sort of self-preservation to this thing, eh? Remember what you said at lunch?”

Patrick shakes his head, just a tiny movement, but it’s there and it makes him look so defeated, “Jonny, if I’d been in that lake just a little while longer I would have drowned. I couldn’t- I was so so tired and so cold. I don’t know how much longer I could have-”

“But you didn’t.” Jonny repeats for what feels like the hundredth time, “You didn’t. You kept swimming and you travelled back. You made it.”

This time Patrick doesn’t answer, just pulls his blankets tighter around himself. He looks so tiny like this, so much more than usually. Patrick isn’t a big dude, everybody and their mothers know that, but he very rarely seems small. He fills whole rooms with his brightness, his personality, the way he holds himself. Right now he almost seems to disappear, that’s how shaken up he is.

“Listen…” Jonny takes a deep breath, clearing his throat, “Patrick, I have met 35 years old you.”

They rarely ever talk about Jonny and the future Patricks, their visits. Patrick has a strangely antagonistic response almost every time Jonny mentions them and Jonny is never sure how much he can really say since it one the one hand is Patrick’s future and on the other it’s a very intimate thing for Jonny. So they usually skate around the topic, if it comes up at all. It’s really surprising how little time travel comes up despite it being such an integral part of both their lives. Right now though, Jonny’s got the feeling he needs to bring it, his side of things, up.

“Yeah? So?” Patrick replies, barely looking up.

Jonny clears his throat again, “I have _met_ him.”

“Yeah? You’ve said that already.” Patrick is starting to sound irritated, apparently still not getting it.

Jonny lets out a deep breath, “Patrick, that means you don’t die at nineteen or twenty or whatever.” He says, making an effort to lock eyes with Patrick, “Because it has already happened. Me meeting 35 years old you has already happened. It’s my past. So it can’t _not_ happen.”

A few moments pass in which they just stare at each other, Patrick’s mouth slightly open, a tiny frown on his face as he’s processing what Jonny’s just said, the conclusions they could both draw from it. It’s a lot. Maybe even too much and Jonny hasn’t really thought about it as much as he probably should but the fact remains that while it’s comforting right this moment the extend of this, of this unique situation, it’s also too much.

“I…” Patrick says slowly, eyes darting form Jonny to his own hands and back, “I’ve never… really thought about it… like this,” he confesses.

“Next time you find yourself in a ‘random ass lake god knows where’ you can think about this,” Jonny says, putting on a smile, “Might be more uplifting then drowning and freezing and shit.”

Patrick snorts a little, “Hell, yes.” He mumbles smiling softly. It reminds Jonny of something.

“Oh, by the way,” he begins, fumbling to pull Patrick’s necklace out of his jeans pocket. He’d almost forgotten about it. “Here.” He hands it to Patrick.

Patrick’s eyes light up, “My shiny.” He says fondly taking the necklace in hand and running his thumb over the cross, “You kept it safe.”

“Of course I did.” Jonny says honestly, “I promised you, didn’t I? Want me to help you put it on?”

For a moment Patrick doesn’t answer, just eyeing his necklace and then Jonny a hesitant expression on his face. Just as Jonny is about to ask what his deal is, Patrick clears his throat.

“Actually,” he begins, “I’ve thought about something.”

“Okay?”

Patrick clears his throat and suddenly there’s something that could either be a blush or a weird shadow from the dim lightning on his face, “I think you should wear it.”

“What?” Jonny stares at the necklace then back at Patrick.

“For me.” Patrick clarifies, “I think you should wear it for me. I can’t wear it. But you can. It’s…” he hesitates, licking his lips, “Look what good is a good luck charm if it’s lying in a drawer somewhere? Nothing. But 90% of the time you are where I am. Like you are my best friend dude, and we play hockey together. We work out together. We drive to the rink together most days. Here in the present it’s you and I and you say at some point it’s gonna be you and me being best buddies in the past too. So if you wear it, the amount of time it’s close to me is actually the highest, right? You’ll be my good luck charm, you lame ass motherfucker.”

He laughs a little, boxing Jonny in the shoulder affectionately, while Jonny has no idea what to feel for a moment. His heart is fluttering in his chest and he’s feeling a little hot, but also awfully confused, because Patrick just said so much stuff that could be, maybe, be considered as romantic, but he’s also paired it with his bro-like attitude and the look in his eyes doesn’t match the way future Patrick’s look at Jonny, with fondness and love and Jonny just doesn’t know what to do with this or with Patrick’s request.

He looks at the thin golden necklace, the cross that hangs off it, tries to imagine it around his own neck, tugged underneath his shirt with just a sliver of the chain peeking out. It makes him reach up unconsciously, running his fingers over the line on his neck where it would sit and suddenly he finds himself shuddering, barely noticeable, but suddenly things fall into place. He remembers the gesture, has experienced it lots and lots of time. Just not by his own hand, but Patrick’s. Future Patrick has a habit of touching Jonny’s neck, letting his finger wandering the line there and Jonny’s never thought twice about it, but now he realizes that maybe it has been a more or less conscious thing, like there was something missing there and Patrick couldn’t help but touch, feel it with his own hands like the tactile person he is.

Maybe it’s been the necklace, maybe it’s that what future Patrick has been missing around Jonny’s neck.

“Okay.” Jonny tells him and Patrick grins brightly in return.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please leave a comment and tell me what you think :)  
> Also, let's hope our boys get their shit together and score some more goals


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> may this please the hockey gods and grant us a fucking win please

If Jonny has assumed that things would change due to the events having taken place at Patrick’s birthday party, he would have been wrong. For some reason that he fails to conclude, nothing at all seems to change the first few weeks after and Jonny is stuck waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He keeps expecting Sharpy to seek him and Patrick out to finally talk about what has happened that night, especially since he can feel Sharpy’s eyes on himself more often than not in the locker room. Whenever Jonny turns to look at him, he’s always wearing a somewhat thoughtful yet blank expression, but he never says anything, never brings it up. In fact their interactions are, at least from Sharpy’s side of things, exactly how they have been before and Jonny doesn’t get it. Sharpy is not the kind of guy to just let something like this go without talking it through first. And yet, apparently that is exactly what seems to have happened.

Another thing that doesn’t change is Patrick; or rather the way things feel between Jonny and Patrick. After Jonny had went home the next day after the party, he had felt giddy and excited, once the shock of Patrick’s near death experience has had worn off. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from touching the necklace all the time, running his fingers along the thin gold chain, playing with the cross pendant. It had felt foreign and weird since Jonny has never been a jewellery wearing kind of guy, and yet the feeling of it against his neck is making warmth pool in the pit of his stomach every time he thinks about it, every time he stares at it in the mirror. Jonny wants to see it as some sort of turning point. Patrick asking him to wear it _for_ him, calling Jonny his good luck charm, it just has to mean something.

As it turns out though, what it means to Jonny and what it means to Patrick may not be nearly as similar as Jonny would like it to be.

When Jonny’s sitting in a booth in a bar he doesn’t even know the name of, barely a week after the party, watching Patrick tongue-fuck a girl’s face barely 10 feet away from him, the chain around his neck feels like it’s choking him, the cross unbearably heavy. He catches Sharpy’s gaze from across the table, but his teammate doesn’t comment, just raises his eyebrows and takes another sip from his beer. For a second Jonny is tempted to bring the whole thing up, maybe just to spite Patrick, maybe to get it over with or maybe to distract himself from having to watch Patrick and the chick making a speed run from the PDA area to the public indecency line. But he doesn’t. Instead he chugs down a couple of more shots which lands him on the filthy restroom floor not much later, puking his guts out, while Seabs and Duncs keep him company, mumbling something about the new murder mystery books Duncs is apparently reading at the moment.

In regards of Sharpy and him having witnessed Patrick’s time travelling, things take a turn Jonny hadn’t anticipated. It’s almost anticlimactic. Much like so many things that Jonny has imagined differently, there is not big conversation, no dramatic explanations. There’s just Jonny taking Patrick aside after morning skate one day, asking him when they’ll have their talk with Sharpy and Patrick frowning and rolling his eyes as he shrugs, telling Jonny almost offhandedly that he’s already talked with Sharpy. It leaves Jonny behind dumbstruck, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, because while Jonny has had just naturally assumed that he would be part of this conversation, especially since he’s the only person in on the secret who has also been there that night, Patrick and Sharpy had excluded him without losing so much as a word about it to him.

It makes Jonny feel a little off-kilter for the majority of the day, his mind circling around _why_ and _when_ and _how_ has Jonny managed to miscalculate his own importance so severely. He doesn’t get to any conclusion but after the game –mentally and physically exhausted- his mind is blissfully empty.

But it doesn’t last long. Patrick is sitting in the passenger seat of Jonny’s car, babbling on about how they should totally treat themselves to a cheat day today and get some McDonald’s right about now (almost like he’s forgotten that Jonny is still struggling with keeping down his food as it is, even if it’s not greasy as fuck fast food shit) when Jonny bursts out with it.

“So, what did he say?” he asks abruptly, interrupting Patrick midsentence, earning himself an accusing tongue clicking from him. It’s a little out of the blue, he gets that, but it’s been bugging him all day and Jonny doesn’t look forward to losing sleep over this.

“What did who say?” Patrick asks, either playing dumb or _being_ extremely dumb. Sometimes Jonny isn’t sure which it is with Patrick. Sometimes he thinks Patrick isn’t sure either.

He raises his eyebrows “Take a wild fucking guess, asshole.” He takes his hand from the ignition key, deciding that he’s not going to have this conversation while driving.

“Oh, that.” Patrick scratches his head, ruffling through his blonde curls in the process and giving Jonny a smile, “It was fine honestly. I don’t think he really believes me yet, but I didn’t expect him to so-”

“You told him the truth?” Jonny cuts in, “About the travelling?”

“Yeah, dude.” Patrick scoffs, “What else was I supposed to say?”

Jonny opens his mouth and shuts it again, clenching his jaw. He doesn’t have an answer.

“See?” Patrick points at him, grinning like he’s just won something. “So I just told him and now he’s stuck having to decide if I’m the crazy one or if he’s the crazy one. Or if in a shocking turn of events _no_ one is crazy and he’s going to have to believe that what he saw is really what I’ve told him and that freaky shit like time travel really does exist. But you know he’s… he was really cool that night, right?” he glances at Jonny suddenly strangely hesitant, “He helped me and shit, no questions asked, so I think… I think we’ll be fine. And maybe it’s not so bad having someone from the team know, you know?”

_I was there too,_ a petty and jealous part of Jonny wants to snap, _I helped too. And I’m on the team. I’m on the team and I know. I was there, I was there I-_

“Yeah.” Jonny says flatly, “Maybe.”

They are silent for a couple of moments and Jonny’s hand finds its way to the necklace, absentmindedly fingering at the pendant through the fabric of his shirt. Patrick doesn’t seem to notice. It’s in addition to that, to the tiny pang of betrayal Jonny feels at Patrick’s words, that Jonny doesn’t like the idea at all that Patrick has had to reveal such an important and secret part of himself without any support. He struggles to understand why Patrick chose to talk to Sharpy on his own. Had he thought Jonny wouldn’t support him for whatever reason? Or has Sharpy simply caught him in a situation where Jonny hadn’t been around?

Regardless, Jonny wants to make sure that Patrick knows, if he had asked, Jonny would have been there for him.

“I would have liked to be there.” Jonny says after a moment, carefully schooling his face into a blank expression like his media training has taught him, “For your talk with Sharpy. Having your back.” he clarifies glancing at Patrick, “We are in this together, remember? Best friends since I was 5?” He gives him, what he hopes is, a subtle and yet reassuring smile.

He doesn’t get a smile back.

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs, carefully averting his eyes, “Yeah, that’s kind of the problem.”

Jonny feels his throat go dry, “The problem?” he echoes, trying to make sense of what is essential a cryptic half sentence to his ears, giving what may be the answer to a question Jonny hasn’t asked out loud yet.

“Yeah man, it’s just-” Patrick starts fiddling with his sleeves, “Like, you are my best friend, Jonny. You are, it’s true, but this whole, since you were a kid thing, me visiting you again and again like some weird magnetic pull through time and space or whatever? That’s sort of creepy and weird, you know? Like, I don’t mind, I guess there are worse places for future me’s to spend their time but…”he pauses and sighs, glancing at Jonny through his eyelashes, “But why you? You know? Why is it you I travel to? No offence, Tazer, but why isn’t it my future wife or like my family? What’s so special about you?”

Jonny swallows, forcing himself to keep his eyes focussed on Patrick who shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting back and forth between Jonny and ‘anywhere but Jonny’. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t think he can, not when every beat of his heart sends another shudder of hurt, wounded pride and incomprehension through his body. It goes hand in hand with shame he feels to the sound of Patrick’s words running on loop inside his head.

“I just didn’t want you to tell it to Sharpy.” Patrick elaborates, seemingly unaware of the affect his words have on Jonny, “That’s why I didn’t want you there for the whole ‘guess what I’m a time traveller no I’m not fucking with you no I’m not on drugs and no I haven’t drugged you either’-conversation.” He adds, when Jonny still hasn’t replied anything after an awkwardly long pause filled with silence, “Because if you had been there he would have asked you how you know, just like my sisters did. And then you would have told him, just like you told my sisters, the heart-warming gay ass story about how I keep coming back to you and shit. And like… that’s not- It’s weird, okay? You get that it’s weird, right?”

He looks at Jonny, biting his lip, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, like he’s hoping for Jonny’s affirmation, for him to say that he understands that it’s chill, that they can just drive home and play some CoD and then pass out on the couch while waiting for their take out to arrive.

But for a moment Jonny’s mind is just empty, except for one clear cut sharp edged thought. Patrick hadn’t _wanted_ him there. Patrick _chose_ to exclude Jonny, because Patrick is ashamed of his history with Jonny. He’s ashamed while not even knowing the true depth of it. And that hurts. It hurts so much in a way that Jonny doesn’t know how to process.

“Fuck you, Kaner.” Jonny says with trembling calm, “Get out of my car.”

Patrick all but flinches, apparently taken off guard by the sudden coldness in Jonny’s voice. It takes a second of dumb, slack jawed gaping until he seems to find his words again, “Dude, no. No, I didn’t-” he scrambles, “I’m just saying that it’s weird! I didn’t mean that we aren’t friends. We are. You are my brother, man. Seriously.”

Jonny doesn’t bother with a response, instead he chooses to just glare straight ahead, not even glancing at Patrick, “Get out.” He repeats.

“Jonny,” Patrick pushes, “Jonny, dude, c’mon. What’s with you?”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” Jonny grits his teeth, barely able to conceal the turmoil of hurt and anger he feels inside and maybe it’s due to that, to this mix of emotion, the way those few simple words of Patrick have made him feel like he’s been knocked into the boards and now everything is more than just slightly off kilter, that Jonny does glance at Patrick’s, finding his wide blue and usually so familiar eyes, looking back at him like a stranger’s. It breaks something.

“Wouldn’t want to be weird, huh?” Jonny says bitterly, unable to keep the hurt from seeping into every word, “Me driving you around all the time. Us hanging out all the time. Wouldn’t want people to think I’m special, right? Kaner and Tazer. Always together. It’s weird, ok? You get that it’s weird, right?” He doesn’t even try to match the way Patrick has sounded just a few moments ago when he had spoken those words. He isn’t even sure if Patrick recognizes them as a mimicry.

“What’s with you??” Patrick simply repeats, sounding increasingly irritated. It makes Jonny so mad, how ignorant Patrick seems to be of Jonny’s feelings.

“…you know if it was so embarrassing for you to be my friend you could have just said so.” he says, trying and failing to fake nonchalance. What comes out sounds somewhere between bitter and hurt, exactly how he is feeling. “I hear Sharpy is really cool and helpful,” Jonny continues, “You should go and check if he’s in the market for a new best friend. I mean, hey he has Burr, sure, but why not go three and make it a party, huh? The more the merrier, am I right?”

“Stop being such a fucking asshole about this, Jonny!” Patrick snaps, a certain defensiveness in his voice, “I didn’t say I was embarrassed about being your friend. I just said-”

Jonny just snorts, feeling a hollow and fake laugh build in his throat, “No. You just called it _weird_. You just said that you didn’t want our friend to know that apparently I _mean_ something to you in some cosmic-universe-time-travel-shit kind of way, because you don’t understand it, sure yeah. But most of all because you are ashamed of it. That’s what you said, you-”

He’s cut off by his own phone ringing and for a few seconds neither of them react. Then Patrick makes a dive for the phone, currently sitting in Jonny’s cup holder between them and honestly, Jonny should have seen that move coming –it’s such a Patrick/dick thing to do- but somehow Patrick beats him to it.

“Give it to me,” Jonny glares at him.

Patrick stares back, his tongue darting out licking his lips. He shakes his head, “No, no, Jonny. Let me talk, let me try to- I didn’t mean-”

“Oh fuck you, you you’ve made yourself clear, Kaner. Don’t worry,” Jonny hisses, trying to make a reach for Patrick, but Patrick is too quick, of course he is, it’s almost like back in prospect camp when Patrick took the list.

“No.” Patrick clenches his jaw, with such a finality it drives Jonny mad.

“Motherfucker,” he barks, unbuckling his seatbelt, because making a grab for his phone currently held as far away as possible by Patrick, while still restrained doesn’t promise much success, “What the fuck, Patrick, you goddamn twelve year old, I’m gonna-”

Just as Jonny manages to free himself and makes a leap for Patrick, Patrick topples backwards, having opened the car door open at the same moment. It looks somewhat undignified, falling backwards from the passenger seat out of a car, while holding a ringing phone in hand but he somehow manages to flip Jonny off at the same time, which only serves to make Jonny more furious, because what the fuck is wrong with Patrick. Jonny honestly can’t fathom, what is going on in the guy’s head and right now he’d sort of like to punch him. And also yell at him until he understands just how irritating he is and how much Jonny is at a loss here, because it’s been months and Jonny is waiting and it’s so hard and it hurts so much and Jonny just doesn’t get what he’s doing wrong and why Patrick and their future feel further away than ever in moments like this, when Jonny could really use that stubborn certainty and trust he used to have in them.

As it is though, Jonny just cruses, yanking his own car door open and making a notably more graceful exit than Patrick has managed. Patrick himself is glaring at Jonny from the other side of the car. Jonny opens his mouth to resume his yelling from before, but before he can get the first syllable out he stops in his tracks, because Patrick, the fucking asshole, has just answered Jonny’s phone.

“Hello this is Tazer’s phone,” Patrick says, in an annoyingly chirpy voice while staring directly at Jonny, “He can’t come to the phone right now because he’s busy throwing a huge hissy fit and-”

Patrick stops mid-sentence, his expression suddenly shifting and he actually blushes a little. Jonny doesn’t have any time to wonder why though, because the next words out of Patrick’s mouth are “Hi, coach, yeah… uh… it’s Patrick.” And that pretty much explains it.

It also makes everything about ten times worth, because this is their goddamn coach on the other end of the line. _Their coach_. And here they are in the parking lot of the rink, yelling at each other about their friendship trouble and stealing phones and in general just not acting like the fucking professionals they are payed to be. And now Jonny can’t even keep yelling at Patrick, so he’ll have to come up with something else.

“Give me the fucking phone,” he mouthes silently at Patrick, who still hasn’t broken eye contact with Jonny but is now nodding along to whatever coach is saying on the other end of the line. It earns him nothing but an eyebrow raise.

“Damnit, Kaner.”Jonny curses, taking a few quick steps to make his way around the hood of his car, so he can maybe, somehow silently wrestle the phone from Patrick’s hand or whatever –he doesn’t actually have a plan, but he can’t just keep standing here like an idiot.

Patrick seems to have anticipated the move though because for every step Jonny takes Patrick does one too, eyes not leaving Jonny, mirroring him and thus keeping the exact same distance between them. It’s frustrating, the easy grace in his steps, despite how upset he has seemed earlier.

“Yeah,” Patrick says into the phone, followed by some more nodding, “Yeah... Mhm… okay, I’ll tell him. Yes. Bye.”

He hangs up then and there is a moment of them just staring at each other, once again, while Patrick is still holding Jonny’s phone.

“What did he want?” Jonny eventually asks, making a point out of sounding as calm and collected as he can manage, even though he is sure that he is still bright red in the face.

Patrick levels him a long look, lips pressed tightly together for a moment, before he answers, “He said he needs an answer about the A they offered you for this month.”

“Ah.” Jonny replies, for the lack of something better to say, “Right. That.”

“Ah?” Patrick raises his eyebrows, “Ah?” he almost sounds offended, “They offered you an A? Holy shit, Jonny, that’s a big deal, it’s like 3 months into your rookie season, that has gotta be some sort of record.”

“I... I guess?” Jonny says slowly, feeling more than just a little caught off guard by the sudden change of topic and tone, by Patrick looking at him with a mix of obvious excitement and confusion written all over his face. “Can I have my phone back now?” Is what Jonny settles for after he’s just dumbly opened and closed his mouth for a couple of seconds.

“To call him back to tell him you are taking the A?” Patrick inquires, “Then yes. Sure, it’s all yours.”

“It’s already ‘all mine’.” Jonny points out, but it’s more an evasion than a clever comeback. Not that Jonny is particularly good at those anyway.

“Tazer.” Patrick says.

Jonny doesn’t reply, instead he looks down and that is probably what tips Patrick off because the next “Tazer.” Out of his mouth sounds exceptionally more pissed and simultaneously baffled. “You are going to say yes, right?” he asks, “You are going to take the A. Tell me you are going to take it.”

When Jonny doesn’t respond, Patrick throws his hands up in what seems to be equally frustration as being flabbergast, “Oh my god. Are you serious? Are you fucking serious, dude?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Jonny shoots back without any real heat, his anger somehow deflating at Patrick’s obvious outrage. “I’m just not sure if I deserve it.” He explains, “I mean… what about Duncs? Or Sharpy? Or one of the other older guys, they-”

“They offered it to _you_ for a reason.” Patrick cuts him off, placing the phone on the hood of Jonny’s car and taking a couple of steps toward him, “Sharpy wore the A in October,” he points out, “And I bet Duncs will get a go at it soon too. And if you didn’t deserve it, why would they offer it to you, huh? What, you think you know better than them? No? Then trust their call. Take the damn letter, man, for all of us rookies.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s considering his next move. It ends up him boxing Jonny gently in the shoulder, adding, “And besides, you’d probably be kind of awesome at it.”

He looks kind of bashful then, despite him doing his best to cover it up by a cocky grin and a casual shrug. It goes a long way to starving Jonny’s anger out further, which is not fair, because Jonny has a right to be angry. He is pissed at Patrick for saying those things, for making Jonny feel like shit and now Patrick just does a complete spin-around, trying to build Jonny’s confidence up by telling him he’d be great as an A and that’s just-

It works, is the thing, and somehow that stirs up a different kind of anger in Jonny. This Patrick doesn’t even love Jonny and he still has this kind of power over him, because Jonny loves _him_ and that feels so fundamentally unfair Jonny couldn’t even put it into words if he tried.

“Are you saying this because I’m fucking mad at you?” Jonny asks, “Because I swear to god, Patrick, don’t make up shit, just because-”

“I’m saying this because it’s true,” Patrick argues, a new kind of determination seeping into his voice, “And don’t go fishing for compliments, dude. I’m only going to say this once. You are lame and annoying and you piss me off so much with your ‘be better, do better’ mumbling but I think that whole thing would go good with the letter.” He shrugs, burrowing his hands in the front pockets of his too big jeans, “So, call coach back, take the damn A and then forgive me for being a shitty friend please? I didn’t mean to say it like this. I’m shit with words okay? You of all people should get that. I’m… I’m really glad that we are friends and that I get to visit little you at some point. I am, really.” He looks up at Jonny through his eye lashes, tentatively licking his lips, “You gotta know that, man.” For a split second Patrick looks incredibly vulnerable, but it’s only for a second, then he shifts, chuckling softly, “And A stands for asshole anyway. So you are kinda predispositioned for the job, don’t you think?”

It’s a feeble and fruitless attempt at lightening the mood and Jonny doesn’t warrant it with a laugh. Instead he lets out a heavy sigh, taking a moment to just look away, letting his eyes wander over the mostly empty parking lot.

“…Fine.” Patrick says, somewhat curtly, “Don’t forgive me. But at least make the call. I mean it. Call right now.”

Jonny clenches his jaw and redirects his gaze to meet Patrick’s. Patrick stares back, unusually serious, lips pressed into a tight line. A few moments pass with nothing but silence and a grim stare between them, but something about Patrick’s gaze has Jonny end up shifting, feeling his resolve crumble.

“Okay.” He swallows, reaching past Patrick to grab his phone from the hood of the car, while Patrick watches him intently, “I’ll do it.” He opens the _last calls_ tab instead of scrolling through his contacts and within seconds he hears the dial tone as he presses his phone to his ear. Patrick just watches him and by some miracle he doesn’t even grin smugly like he usually does when he gets his way with things. Something about it is mesmerizing and Jonny can’t tear his eyes away as he’s waiting for coach to pick up. Patrick doesn’t look away either.

“Jonathan?” says coach’s voice on the other end of the line, causing Jonny to snap back to attention.

“Yes,” He says, trying and this time succeeding in implementing his monotone into his voice, something that’s always so easy and natural with everyone else but somehow so hard with Patrick at times, “Listen, I’m calling because of the A,” he continues, but an almost soundless gasp from Patrick distracts him. His eyes find Patrick’s and Patrick stares back.

“Oh,” He says and Jonny opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask what is wrong because the next second Patrick is gone and there’s nothing left but a pile of clothes in his place.

 

***

 

**_ Jonny is 17 _ **

“Jonny, I’ve been thinking,” TJ starts out of nowhere, peeking his head up from behind the couch where he’s been lying on the floor (appreciating how soft the carpet), causing Jonny to sigh. They are in the common room of their dorm, but there’s only one other guy there, wearing head phones and obsessively typing away on his laptop.

“Not this again,” Jonny grumbles, putting his text book down and turning to face TJ, who’s half leaning over the back of the couch now, “Last time you’ve opened with that, it lead to you trying to set me up with some random guy. Please tell me this is about something else.”

“Mh, kinda?” TJ muses, swinging his legs over the back of the couch and plopping down next to Jonny with an astonishing amount of grace, “I’m not trying to set you up again. Promise. The offer stands though, bro.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jonny mumbles, crossing his arms, “So, you’ve been thinking about...” he gestures for TJ to fill in the blank, but he seems strangely hesitant like he’s not sure how to put whatever it is into words and that is basically unheard of when it comes to TJ. The guy always talks, has always got something to say.

Eventually TJ clears his throat. “What you said the other day,” he says, “I’ve been wondering, like, don’t take this the wrong way, man. Like, I respect your decision and shit, but-” he starts chewing on his lip, looking thoughtful, “Why aren’t you looking, Jonny? I mean, I get why no guys. It sucks, it majorly sucks, but I get it.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Jonny asks, “If you get it?”

“What about girls, dude?”

Jonny raises his eyebrows, “What about them?”

TJ rolls his eyes, “You can’t run around dating guys. Understood. But what about girls, JT? Why not date girls? Or hook up with girls? You could ‘look’ for girls, you know? We could even find you a dykey looking one if that’s what-”

“Dude.” Jonny cuts him off, “That’s not- I thought we were over you trying to set me up.”

“We are, I swear.” TJ holds up his hands in defence. “I’m just wondering. Girls are awesome. And you said that you like girls. So.”

Jonny squints at him, “Is this about Lauren? Did she ask you for a threesome, because no. Hard no, TJ.”

“No, she did not.” TJ snorts, giving Jonny’s shoulder a shove, “Shut up. I’m man enough for her, thank you very much. But seriously, why aren’t you looking?”

Jonny sighs, taking a moment to consider his options. He could keep blocking, maybe even play up his annoyance so TJ leaves him alone. He could also just get up and leave. It’s not a very elegant way, but it has gotten him out of worse conversations. There’s also the options of telling the truth of why Jonny isn’t looking. He could tell TJ about the wonderful guy that Jonny gets to call his boyfriend, about Patrick’s smile and his laugh and his incredible hands. He could tell him about how much Jonny loves this guy and how much Jonny is dying to finally meet him.

It’d be great to tell TJ that. Jonny would love to be able to say something back when TJ goes on another rant about how perfect Lauren’s lips are and how great it feels to wake up next to her. He’d love to be able to do more than just nod along and maybe chirp TJ a bit for how love struck he is. But he can’t. Not really. And sometimes that makes Jonny feel like he’s lying and while Jonny has lied for Patrick, or rather because of Patrick all his life, it still makes him feel guilty when he has to lie TJ in the face. He rather evades, finds way to talk around answers and/or distract. This time though, TJ seems determined to get something out of Jonny.

Jonny has to give him something. “It wouldn’t be fair,” he says, causing TJ to frown.

“What wouldn’t be?” TJ tilts his head.

Jonny shifts, rubbing his neck, “Me… starting something with someone, a girl, already knowing that we don’t have a future,” he explains. “Would be kind of a dick move.”

The thing is, Jonny has thought about it –in theory at least-, about dating girls. Patrick has told him so often to not let his relationship with him limit his choices that he should experience life and love without regrets, but Jonny has never actually found a girl he’d been willing to ignore his devotion to Patrick for. And there’d always been this awareness too, in the back of his mind, that every potential relationship would only be temporary, doomed from the start, at least from Jonny’s side of things and that’s- that wouldn’t be fair, not when the other person truly believes in them having a shot at a shared future. Because Jonny’s future belongs to Patrick. It always has.

TJ scoffs, waving his hand, “Who says you and Veronica from econ don’t have a future? Or you and the cute redhead from that donut place?”

Jonny scowls at him. TJ seems unimpressed.

“I’m just saying.” He shrugs, “Plus there are also casual arrangements. You don’t have to have or want a future with a girl to pass some time with her. As long as both of you are on board with that of course.” He winks obnoxiously and Jonny fights the urge to kick him in the ribs, while simultaneously failing to not let a blush creep up his face.

“Could you drop it maybe?” Jonny asks, settling for that instead of the kicking. He’s already regretting what little he has said, “I don’t see why my love life is so interesting to you.”

“I’m just…” TJ begins, running his fingers through his hair, “…I think you are lonely, Jonny. And you don’t seem like you enjoy being lonely, so I don’t think you _want_ to be lonely. And you shouldn’t be, bro, cause you are too awesome for that.” He pauses, giving Jonny a look, “So I’m just trying to understand. I want you to be happy, man.”

There is so much sincerity in TJ’s gaze it almost knocks the air out of Jonny’s lungs and for a moment he just stares at his friend, who cares so much and who has no diffidence about admitting just that. It’s in that moment, more than any other time that Jonny wishes he could tell TJ the truth, open up to him about it all, tell him that yes, Jonny is lonely, and no, he doesn’t enjoy it and no, he doesn’t want it, but he can’t do anything about it either. It would feel good, Jonny thinks, having someone know, someone he trust as much as he trusts TJ. Him knowing about Patrick, about _Patrick and Jonny,_ it would make everything feel more real, allow it to exist outside of Jonny’s head, outside of the reality only he is aware of.

“I’m used to it,” Jonny ends up saying, the words just slipping out between two breaths and it makes him want to hide his face in shame, but instead he just clenches his jaw, pressing his lips together and returning TJ’s wide eyed gaze somewhat defiantly.

“That’s the saddest fucking thing you’ve ever said.” TJ says and unlike Jonny he makes no attempt at shielding any of his emotions away. It’s raw and open and it makes Jonny feel guilty because his friend is sad for him, sounding almost heartbroken and he doesn’t need to be. Sure, Jonny is lonely now, but-

“It’s okay, TJ. It’s not going to be forever.” Jonny cuts in quickly, plastering a smile on his face, trying to sound a little more upbeat and maybe even reassuring, “I told you. I’m not looking right now. And I may be lonely right now, but I won’t be forever.”

TJ shakes his head, frowning, “You keep saying that, but what does that even mean?”

Jonny swallows, opens his mouth but closes it again. TJ doesn’t look away, quietly waiting for Jonny to speak, but Jonny can’t. He can’t, he doesn’t know how to it’s been almost thirteen years and he’s never told anyone.

“I’m going to sound crazy.” Jonny says quietly, shooting a quick glance at TJ, who’s watching him intently.

“You always do and I love you anyway, you know that.” TJ replies, a tease filled with affection that draws a tiny smile on Jonny’s face, “Now c’mon, spill.”

Jonny takes a deep breath. “I’m going to meet someone,” he says, even though technically he has already met him. Just not in the right time yet. “And we’ll be together, he and I. He’s the love of my life and when I’ve met him I’m not going to be lonely anymore. So, it’s not going to be forever. I’m just waiting _right now_.”

TJ stares at him for a couple of seconds then he starts laughing, but only for a couple of seconds. “Oh, shit, you are serious?”

Jonny blushes but doesn’t look away. TJ raises his eyebrows.

“Oh. Okay. Uhm.” He cracks his neck, clearing his throat, “I gotta admit that does sound… crazy. No offence, bro. But… What the fuck?”

“I told you I’d sound crazy.”

TJ snorts. “Well and you delivered. Let it be known that Jonathan Toews keeps promises and lives to exceeds expectations, on and off the ice.”

“Yay me.” Jonny says dryly.

“Look, man, I appreciate a healthy dose of romance and shit, I really do. Candles, rose petals, heartfelt love declarations, sign me the fuck up, but this?” he shakes his head, “You waiting for prince Charming to swoop you off your feet? That’s- You sound fucking sure. Like- I mean- How can you be sure there’s a dude like this out there for you? And that he’s worth waiting for? I don’t get it.”

“It’s not blind hope.” Jonny argues, even though he’s aware that even if he whips out the whole time travel card he’s on a sinking ship with this argument. “I’m not just waiting around for some dumb romance shit. I _know_ it’s gonna happen.”

TJ pulls a face. “See, dude, that doesn’t exactly make you sound saner.”

“I don’t-” Jonny sighs. “I don’t know, TJ, what do you want me to say?”

“Well,” TJ pauses and stares off into the distance for a moment, then he bumps his shoulder into Jonny’s. “Crazy or not you are still my dude, Toews, so I got dips on being first man, yeah? Mysterious Mr. Perfect? Sure. Love of your life? Awesome. Wedding in Winnipeg? Yes please.” He grins brightly, wiggling his eyebrows. “Mental Asylum because of delusions? Not my jam, but hey, I got your back. As long as I get your jello.”

There’s nothing in TJ’s gaze that would suggest that he’s being anything but serious. It’s this sincerity that kind of floors Jonny and he can’t do anything but stare for a moment. “Maybe you are the crazy one?” he says eventually causing TJ to laugh warmly and that-

“I love you, man.” Jonny adds.

“Aww, you too, Jonny-boy.” TJ grins, leaning in quickly to smooch Jonny right on the cheek, like the affectionate fucker he is. “So, about that threesome…”

 

***

 

**_ December 2007, Jonny is 19 and Patrick is 19 _ **

 

Jonny doesn’t know how long he sits there in his car in the parking lot of the training rink, waiting for Patrick. Initially after Patrick had disappeared and Jonny had wrapped up the phone call he had just gotten back into his car and left, pulled out of his parking spot, leaving Patrick’s belongings on the ground where he has left them behind. He had still felt hurt and upset, despite his anger having mostly deflated and a childish part of him had urged him on to for once leave Patrick like he always leaves Jonny. He’d just started driving, planning on going straight home without sparing Patrick a second thought but not even 500 meters later Jonny had turned the car around and now here he was, back in the parking lot, Patrick’s clothes on the passenger seat, waiting.

Sometimes it feels like all Jonny has ever done is waiting, when it comes to Patrick. It has always been Jonny waiting for Patrick’s visits, for the next date on the list to come around, for another few precious moments with Patrick. It has always been Jonny waiting to finally meet Patrick, imaging countless of scenarios, trying to figure out when and how and _when_.

And now it’s Jonny still waiting. Waiting for future Patricks to visit, waiting for present Patrick to come back, waiting for present Patrick to fall in love with him.

He’s just waiting and he’s still lonely. One and a half years ago Jonny’s told TJ that he wouldn’t be lonely forever and while Jonny still firmly believes that, it also feels like mockery now, remembering his past-self’s words. Because right now, despite having met Patrick and becoming his friend Jonny is still lonely. And he’s still waiting.

Because Patrick doesn’t love him back.

For a second Jonny’s fingers hover over TJ’s name in his contact list and he’s almost tempted to just call his friend, to finally do what he couldn’t do back then and tell him the truth and have someone listen, have someone know. Maybe it would make Jonny feel less lonely.

But what would he even say?

_‘Hey, remember how you used to be all in my face about my love life and I used to be all weird about it? That’s because my teammate Patrick Kane is a time traveller and I’ve been in love with him my whole life and it hurts and I don’t know what to do’_

He can’t picture that going over well. TJ would probably ask him if he’s drunk or high and Jonny couldn’t blame him honestly. It sounds crazy, he’s aware of that, but Jonny doubts there’s a way to explain it all without seeming like a complete nut job. He wonders how Patrick has managed with Sharpy and that sends another twinge of hurt down his stomach, because he would know, he wouldn’t have to wonder, if Patrick had just included him.

_To: TJ_

_Hey, how’s it going?_

Jonny types out quickly, feeling his heart thump in his chest for no logical reason since he hasn’t said anything of substance yet, since he’s figured initiating a normal conversation first was probably the best course of action. It’d give Jonny more time to work up the courage to actually tell him too.

He doesn’t get more time though. He never sends the text or any follow ups, doesn’t get to elaborate, because just as he’s about to press send there’s Patrick, knocking at the passenger side window, gesturing for Jonny to open the door. Jonny hits delete on the text quickly, irrationally feeling caught for a split second, before he leans over unlocking the door so Patrick can slip in.

He seems a little out of breath, cheeks flushed and feet a little dirty but otherwise perfectly unharmed which has Jonny let go of a tension in his shoulders he hadn’t been aware he’s been holding. Patrick throws him a thankful glance as he’s ungracefully slipping back into his clothes, which due to the confinements of Jonny’s car is not an easy task.

“Fucking hell,” Patrick says with an exasperated smile, running his fingers through his slightly wet hair. It’s only then that Jonny realizes it has started drizzling. “Thanks for waiting.”

Jonny swallows around the lump in his throat, placing his phone back in the coffee holder between them. “No problem,” he replies, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as thin as it feels.

“Great, so here’s the thing,” Patrick says as he’s checking himself in the mirror, apparently not quite satisfied with the way his snapback is sitting on his head, “I’ve reappeared about two alleys down that direction there and I think an old lady saw me while taking out the trash and she was yelling something in fucking Russian I think and she _might_ be calling the police right now I’m guessing. So….maybe start driving? Pretty please?”

“Maybe she just wants to get to know you better.” Jonny suggests ignoring the knot in his stomach. He turns the key in the ignition and quickly backs out of the parking lot for the second time today, this time _with_ Patrick who’s leaning back lazily grinning at Jonny.

“So the call with coach,” Patrick starts as they stop at a red light. “Do I now have to actually start listening to the shit you say, because you have a letter to top off your arguments? Or can I just don’t give a shit like usually? Where are we standing?”

“I took it,” Jonny answers just as the light switches to green and he puts the car into motion again.

“Awesome,” Patrick grins, giving Jonny’s shoulder a gentle nudge, which would usually prompt Jonny to mock lecture Patrick about road safety and shit, but as it is he still feels a little off, like their argument has ended without a conclusion, but also no way back in, because Jonny doesn’t _want_ to fight about this. He doesn’t enjoy it, not when it’s about actual hurtful, personal things. Of course he doesn’t, but somehow he feels like his mind is stuck back in the moment before Patrick has disappeared, caught somewhere between being hurt by Patrick being ashamed of their past and feeling proud because of Patrick being so adamant about Jonny deserving the A. Patrick however seems utterly unaffected now that he’s back from whenever he’s been.

“Okay, Jonny, smile!” Patrick exclaims just as Jonny takes a left turn. When Jonny has the chance to look at him, he finds him with Jonny’s phone (of fucking course it’s Jonny’s) in hand apparently taking a series of pictures of Jonny scowling at him in confusion. Which is apparently very funny too, because Patrick is giggling, seemingly delighted.

“Dude,” Jonny says flatly, because honestly, what is it with Patrick and other people’s belongings? “What are you doing?”

Patrick wiggles his eyebrows, taking one last pic and then lowering the phone, presumably to look at the pictures he has taken “Just getting the first exclusive photos of our dear Tazer as an A. Don’t mind me.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Jonny scoffs but it only makes Patrick laugh more, bringing Jonny to the conclusion that either wherever Patrick has ended up when he travelled was a very nice place, or he’s spend far longer there than time has passed in the present. Or both perhaps.

Patrick’s laughter cuts off abruptly though the moment Jonny pulls into the parking garage of his building. When he looks over he finds Patrick staring at his phone, brows furrowed and lip caught between his teeth. He’s eerily quiet all of sudden.

“Kaner?” Jonny asks carefully, turning of the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt, all while Patrick keeps frowning at Jonny’s phone, “You ok?”

Patrick doesn’t answer instead he just turns the phone so Jonny can see the screen. It shows a picture, but none of those Patrick just took of Jonny. It _does_ show Jonny, but he’s not alone. Patrick is there too. Not present Patrick, not the Patrick that is looking at Jonny right now with that unreadable expression on his face. It’s the picture Jonny took with future Patrick over a month ago, the night before Jonny’s first NHL game, when he’d been so nervous about the game and happy about future Patrick being there and upset about present Patrick being with his girlfriend. He remembers it. He remembers convincing Patrick to let him take the picture despite his protests, despite him insisting that it wasn’t a good idea.

“What is this?” Patrick ask, voice as blank as his face.

Jonny swallows, “You and me.”

Because that is what it is. It’s nothing bad, nothing for Jonny to blush about. It’s just a nice picture. A picture of Jonny and Patrick smiling, of them being happy. There’s nothing wrong with it, Jonny knows that and yet, Patrick’s insistence of it not being a good idea is ringing in Jonny’s head and suddenly he feels unsure, searching Patrick’s face for any hint or clue onto what exactly the problem is that both future and present Patrick seem to have with the picture.

“No, it’s not.” Patrick says, glancing from Jonny back to the screen, “That’s not me and you know it. See that hair? Mine isn’t as thin and flat and that cut-”

“His hair is fine.” Jonny objects, suddenly feeling defensive. He loves future Patrick’s hair, no matter what time, what cut, or whatever. Sure he isn’t the biggest fan of the mullets Patrick sports sometimes, but it’s still Patrick’s hair and Jonny can’t look at it without remembering how it feels to run his fingers through it. It doesn’t matter that thirty-five years old Patrick’s hair might not be as full and curly as his fifteen years younger counterpart, it’s still beautiful and Jonny loves everything about it.

Apparently though, Patrick’s reaction, in its core, isn’t about the hair at all.

“That’s not me. That’s a _future_ me,” Patrick points out, voice and face no longer blank, but alive with a number of different emotions flickering in and out, eventually settling on anger. Strangely enough it doesn’t seem to be directed at Jonny though. “He let you take a picture? That fucking prick.” He murmurs, tossing the phone back at Jonny, “Why didn’t you tell me he visited? You should have told me.”

Jonny barely manages to catch the phone, carefully putting it in his jacket pocket, before looking back up at Patrick, “Why… why would I?” he asks carefully.

Somehow Patrick manages to look offended at that.

“Because it’s _me_ ,” he says like that’s explanation enough, “I should fucking know what that fucker is up to when he’s messing around in my present. You are supposed to have my back with this shit, Jonny.”

“What are you on about?” Jonny stares at him, “It was just me. We just… we just hung out, me and …him. He doesn’t mess with anything?”

“Easy for you to say,” Patrick snaps all but glaring now, “What if Seabs had come home, huh? What if he had seen him?”

If Patrick didn’t seem so disgruntled Jonny would find it amusing that Patrick is basically voicing the very same objections like Jonny had back then, but as it is he can only stare back helplessly, not sure what he and future Patrick are being accused of here.

“He didn’t though.” He points out as calmly as possible, “Future you knew he wouldn’t. And now you know, so it’s all good? What’s your problem?”

“What’s my problem? What’s _his_ deal?” Patrick licks his lip, tugging at his sleeves, “Why can’t he just, I don’t know, hide in a dumpster until he’s ready to jump back? Why does he have to…interfere like this? Weasel around in my life, my time? It’s not his. He has no right.”

“In a dumpster,” Jonny echoes dumbly, “Patrick, you realize, that he in a dumpster means you in a dumpster at some point in the future, right?”

Patrick’s eyes snap back up to meet Jonny’s. He looks more than just pissed now. “Yeah, Jonny, actually I do realize that.” He spits, “I’ve actually been living with this shit for my whole fucking life, but thanks for lecturing me. Loving your input here, buddy.”

“I’m not-” Jonny protests, almost tripping over the words, “I’m not lecturing you, I-”

“Yes, you are.” Patrick says and for a second it looks like he’s about to nope out of their conversation again, if this time by mundanely exiting the ca, but he stops himself. Hand already grasping the handle, he turns around to lock eyes with Jonny.

“You should delete the picture,” he says, “It’s not- Just delete it, Jonny. Please.” He pauses and then adds, “From when is it anyway?”

“October,” Jonny answers, almost mechanically, “The day before my NHL debut.”

Patrick turns to look out of the window, “You looked really happy.” He says quietly, “In the picture I mean.”

“I… yeah? What-” Jonny doesn’t know what to say. He _was_ happy.

“Nothing,” Patrick cuts him off and pushes the car door open, “Just delete it, okay?”

 

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. I don't have a lot of time to write at the moment so maybe leave a comment to motivate me :D


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

The first half of December goes down in a series of losses that Jonny can’t help but feel responsible for. He only scores twice in 7 games, bringing just one win onto the board and it’s not enough. It’s not enough for a lot of reasons, because he knows they need every point, because they’ve just given him the A and he wants to prove that he deserves it. It’s not enough because Jonny knows –he fucking knows- that he could be better but he’s constantly tired and exhausted and all the stress management techniques in the world his trainers push on him don’t help him keep his food down. It’s not enough because him and Patrick are actually head to head in the point scoring race among the rookies, even contenders for the best in the league and yet, they are failing, _he_ is failing and Jonny hates that so much.

And then there’s Patrick, of course. If Jonny had thought that waiting to finally meet Patrick, all those years of not knowing when or where or how, had been hard, it turns out that it’s even harder to know Patrick, to be with him but not _be with him_. After the parking lot incident (as Jonny has started calling it in his head) things hadn’t exactly been strained. At least not from Patrick’s side, since he’d simply slipped back into the same behaviour as before, loud, mouthy and never-too-serious douchebag, and that had been it, while Jonny had spent night after night dwelling on Patrick’s words, unable to figure anything out except that he felt sorry for himself. Self-Pity never got anyone anywhere though so Jonny’s decided after allowing himself half a week of moping to push it a side and just focus on hockey, on pouring all his energy into his play. But maybe it’s the fact that things are not strained that has made it harder to cope for Jonny. Because somehow, it makes him feel like it’s all just inside his head while the rest of the world simply keeps turning.

It all comes to a climax of pent up frustration and disappointment on December the 15th in Buffalo. They score barely two minutes into the first, Patrick with a beauty of a goal against his home town team, assisted by Sharpy and Jonny and it feels so good, it feels fantastic like they can do it, like this game is theirs, only for things to fall apart in the next period. They allow the Sabres to even the score early into the second on a powerplay for a stupid penalty, take a second only seven minutes later. The small hope Jonny has managed to entertain throughout the game and going into the third that maybe they’d be able to win anyway or at least force OT, get crushed when the Sabres score again with less than a minute to go and just like that Patrick’s lone goal doesn’t matter at all anymore.

Patrick is angry and embarrassed, the usual emotions after a loss only amplified by the fact that his family has watched it happen live, sitting in the stands. Jonny knows just how much Patrick wants to make his family proud, how much he strives off their attention and appreciation. He’d already been in a sour mood even before the game because dinner with his family had been ruled out due to their bus leaving right after the game. And now he’s got the loss as the cherry on top.

 Jonny’s mad too, of course he is, but he’s better at concealing it, at least off the ice. He isn’t entirely sure if it’s because of that or the letter (that feels so much more heavy after losses) that they make him talk to the media more often than not after games these days. Today is not an exception so Jonny gets to the showers feeling even worse about himself and the loss and also a little late. Most of the guys have already cleared out, which in hindsight turns out to be quite good timing because one second Jonny’s busy fumbling with the shower faucet, trying to find an acceptable temperature and the next he turns around at the sharp intake of breath from two showers over, where he finds Sharpy staring blankly into space. Or not ‘space’, as it turns out, because Sharpy is staring at a lone towel crumpled on the wet tiles.

Jonny doesn’t need Sharpy slowly turning his gaze to Jonny and softly whispering “What the fuck,” to figure out what has just happened. Patrick has vanished, right there before Sharpy’s eyes.

“Hm?” Dave turns around from where he’s been humming at the other end of the shower row, “What ‘what the fuck’?”

For a second Jonny and Sharpy just stare at each other, then Sharpy turns to Dave, a bright smile plastered onto his face and Jonny can tell that he’s about to say something but somehow the words seem to get stuck, which in itself is quite the rare occurrence when it comes to Sharpy, but then again so is watching your friend disappear before your eyes and it might throw you off your game a bit, even if it’s not technically the first time. It means however that the situation unfolding to their unsuspecting teammate presents itself as Sharpy swearing out of nowhere and staring at Jonny and then turning around to weirdly grin at a confused Dave without saying a word. All while all three of them are wet and completely naked.

Jonny has to do something.

“Sharpy just caught his reflection in the tiles and realized that he might not be the most beautiful man in Chicago after all.” Jonny jumps in which has Sharpy tsk at him in response, “Imagine his bewilderment.”

“Jealousy, Tazer. Pure jealousy.” Sharpy shakes his head solemnly.

Dave simply shrugs, apparently satisfied with their little act (or more likely: simply not invested enough in the mysterious ‘what the fuck’) and strolls out of the showers leaving Jonny, Sharpy, and Patrick’s abandoned towel behind.

“He disappeared.” Sharpy says as soon as Dave is out of ear shot, “Little Peekaboo, just… pulled a fucking peekaboo.” He stares at the towel and then at Jonny, “And I’m not even drunk.”

“It would appear so.” Jonny says, making quick work of washing his body while Sharpy keeps mumbling some unintelligible gibberish, or at least that’s what it sounds like to Jonny with his head under the shower’s spray.

“Is he going to come back?” Sharpy asks when Jonny turns off his shower, staring at Jonny with wide eyes.

“You know he is going to come back.” Jonny frowns, “You _saw_ him come back. And I thought he explained things to you.”

“Yeah, but...” Sharpy opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, “He disappeared. He just-” he makes an accompanying ‘pop’ noise with his lips opening his hands, “What- What do we _do_?”

On some level Jonny sympathizes with Sharpy’s inability to process what has just happened right before his eyes. It can’t be easy, he imagines, coming to terms with the fact that the world apparently doesn’t always follow the rules you grew up to believe were fundamental and unquestionable. He can see it in Sharpy’s eyes how helpless and overwhelmed he feels and Jonny would comfort him, he really would, even if Sharpy is older and their mentor and all that, but he’s so tired and yes, yes Patrick disappearing now of all times sucks, it could be a problem and yes Jonny worries where he is right now, how he’s dealing with his anger and disappointment from the loss while being tossed into god knows what situation, but Jonny just feels exhausted right now.

“We don’t do anything.” Jonny says, picking up Patrick’s towel, making an effort not to pull a face at saying ‘we’. He’s never been a ‘we’ with someone over this thing with Patrick. It’s always just been Jonny and he has yet to come to terms with the fact that there’s another person in on the secret now. “We wait. We make sure he’s got clothes when he comes back and cover up that he’s gone if we have to. If we can.”

Sharpy raises his eyebrows a glimmer of disbelief in his eyes “We can’t just sit around? There’s gotta be something we can do to get him back.”

“Really? How do you figure?” Jonny snaps, maybe a little unfairly, but he’s still on edge from the game and mildly annoyed that Sharpy, who up until ten seconds ago has seemed pretty unwilling to accept the fact that he’s a two time witness to time travel, is up in his face now about them having to do _something_ , “Don’t you think I would, if I could? Don’t you think Patrick would? Do you think I like just sitting around and waiting? Because I don’t. It fucking sucks.”

“Woah” Sharpy raises his hands in defence, surprised by Jonny’s sudden outburst. So is Jonny, but he’s wound so tight, the more surprising thing is that he hasn’t snapped earlier. “Dial down the attitude a notch, kid. I was just saying.”

“Well, don’t.” Jonny says curtly, walking into the locker room without sparing Sharpy another glance, clutching Patrick’s towel in his fist.

Sharpy doesn’t seem inclined to let it go though. A moment later, Jonny has barely managed to pull on a fresh pair of briefs, Sharpy sits down next to him, miraculously already in a pair of comfortable pants himself.

“What.” Jonny glares at him. He’s dimly aware that bottling up his emotions isn’t the best thing to do but it’s not like he can simply _talk_ about half the things that are messing with his head.

“I’m going to let this shit you just pulled go this one time, because you are a rookie and I consider myself to have the moral high ground here in addition to being your damn friend, Jonathan.” Sharpy says calmly in a low voice so the few of their teammates that are still getting dressed will hear a murmur at best. “And because I’m generous like that I have some advice for you to top it off too.”

Jonny grits his teeth but doesn’t look up. He knows he shouldn’t have snapped at Sharpy, his mom raised him better than that, and in due time he’ll feel sufficiently bad about it, but right now he couldn’t be less in the mood for whatever advice Sharpy may think he has to offer.

“Me and some of the others, we have noticed some things and I wasn’t going to bring it up now, but you being so very charming has made me change my mind. So first things first,” Sharpy smiles, “you bitching at me, bitching at others, it doesn’t get you anywhere. I know that’s a hard concept for you to grasp, but sometimes you have to let things go. A loss like this for instance, there is no use dwelling on it. Coach will have our asses for it next time at practice so you tearing yourself up now gets us a shit ton of nothing except you in a bad mood and that means Kaner in a bad mood and that gets _me_ in a bad mood too. You get the picture?” he nudges Jonny’s knee with his until Jonny shoots him a glance, filled with as much disdain as he can get away with without being disrespectful.

“I need to play better.” Jonny argues, slightly annoyed by the affectionate look Sharpy gives him, “I need to _be_ better. If I had-”

“You weren’t the only guy out there tonight who tried to make something happen but couldn’t. Some games just get away from you.” Sharpy interrupts him calmly, and it’s odd to hear him sound so serious, not much of the usual amused sparkle in his eyes. Sometimes it’s easy to forget, with how easy with the jokes and pranks he is, that Sharpy is pretty much a veteran when it comes to the NHL. He’s got seven years on Jonny in age, six in the NHL, and usually it doesn’t feel like it, but suddenly Jonny is reminded that Sharpy’s been here before. He’s had losing streaks, he’s had bad games, far more than Jonny and he knows how to handle them far better too, evidently. “You can’t will a win into existence. Hell if you could I’d see us with the Cup in three years tops.” He chuckles a little, but his tone remains absolutely sincere, “You did good today, Tazer. So if anything, focus on that.”

Jonny shakes his head. “Not good enough.” He feels kind of bad now, snapping at Sharpy like he has, it’s not cool and he should probably apologize at some point, but he isn’t sure how they’ve moved on from Jonny being upset about Patrick too him being upset about hockey. Then again, it’s all a cluster-fuck of emotions anyway with the bottom line of Jonny feeling like shit and acting like shit, and Jonny’s too exhausted to figure anything out. There’s only one clear thought that Jonny’s barely man enough to admit too himself let alone to anyone out loud.

_I didn’t think it would be this hard._

And with this, he means everything.

Sharpy snorts, “Pick your battles, man. I’m giving you a compliment, you fuckwit. Save your energy for things you actually need to fight,” He gets up and pulls on his T-shirt while Jonny fiddles with a loose thread at the waistband of his pants (which he should probably put on at some point). He grins ruffling his hair with one hand so it falls in typical Sharpy fashion, “Boom, there you go. Another piece of kickass advice from your dear friend Sharpshooter. Man, I’m on a roll.”

Jonny doesn’t know what shows on his face but it must not be what Sharpy has been hoping for because instead of continuing to get dressed he sighs softly, “Look, I know you like to carry the weight of the whole world on your shoulders. Don’t think we haven’t picked up on that self-sacrificing fetish of yours, but-”

“Self-sacrificing fet-” Jonny splutters, his face flushing. That is _so_ not a thing.

Sharpy shushes him with an impatient hand wave accompanied by him shaking his head, fondly but also a little bit patronizingly, “Just because they have decided to make you and Peeks the new face of this franchise, of our rebuild, doesn’t mean it’s all on you. You are a rookie, Tazer. A damn good one, not gonna lie about that, but still a rookie and the NHL isn’t Juniors or College, kid. You can’t just power through.” He pauses, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “What I’m saying is, you gotta pace yourself a little. You gotta know when to keep pushing and when to let go. I’ve been there and trust me when I say that all the rookie enthusiasm in the world is no match for a 80+ games season if you keep taking every loss as a personal failure of epic proportions. That’s how you burn yourself out.”

Jonny presses his lips together tightly, blinking a couple of times as he tries to figure out how to react. He’s not burning himself out. Sure, things are hard and exhausting and on top of his food problems he’s started having trouble sleeping as well but it’s not- He’s handling it. It’s just a lot right now, once he’s adjusted he’ll be fine though. It’s just taking a little longer than he’s expected. Not just the NHL part.

“I’m fine.” He says, but he doesn’t sound as sure as he’d like to, “I can handle it.”

Maybe finishing getting dressed and figuring out what to do about Patrick still not being back should be on the forefront of his mind, not Sharpy feeling the need to give him uncalled for advice. Jonny appreciates it, he really does, it’s just that he really doesn’t have the time or the energy to-

“I’m not saying you can’t,” Sharpy concedes, “I’m saying you _aren’t_. And that’s understandable, I get it really, it’s stressful being a rookie, especially a high-profile one like you. And then there’s, as I’ve come to accept, the added stress due to the-“ he grins,”…y’know tick tock… Peeksie and the 12 monkeys secret.”

That has Jonny frowning, “Kaner is the time traveller. Not me. I’m just…” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence so he trails off into silence.

“Waiting.” Sharpy fills in and Jonny’s heart stops for a second, “That must be tough too. I know I’m, new to this, but sticking around, waiting, making sure he comes back to clothes and shit, taking care of him, can’t be easy. That’s all I’m saying.”

“What did he tell you?” Jonny asks, swallowing. Judging from what Patrick has said in the car he’s figured Patrick hasn’t told Sharpy anything about how much Jonny is involved in the whole time travel thing, not that Patrick himself knows just _how_ much.

“He didn’t have to tell me anything for me to know you are in this too.” Sharpy shrugs, “And if you are ‘in’ something you are in it. You don’t know how to half-ass things, Toez. And that can be tough, I’m guessing.”

“I… yeah.” Jonny replies dumbly. He has known, of course that Sharpy isn’t just jokes and laughs but it’s still somewhat bewildering that he’s this observant and good at reading Jonny.

Sharpy sighs and stretches, before ruffling Jonny’s hair with a grin. “Okay, pet the rookie is over. Peeksie is still gone so… when do you guess we can expect him to graze us with his presence again?”

“Uhm,” Jonny scratches his head, “I don’t know.” He admits, “Could be two minutes, could be two hours.”

Sharpy makes a displeased sound, letting his gaze wander through the pretty much empty locker room, “Well, that might be a bit of a problem since our bus leaves in, uh-” he glances at his watch, pulling a face, “-twenty minutes. Jesus. Mh.”

“Yeah.”

For a second they just stare at each other in what Jonny believes to be mutual grief about this situation as a whole.

“Okay,” Sharpy claps his hands. “We gotta delay the bus. Simple as that.”

Jonny folds his arms, “And how do you propose we do that?”

It still feels weird, saying ‘we’, having Sharpy worry with him, trying to figure something out to help Patrick. But it’s a different weird than Jonny has felt when their conversation has first started.

Sharpy smirks, “Leave it to me and Burr, kid.” He toes on his shoes and gives Jonny a meaningful look, “I’m not gonna leave my rookie in this bitch ass city so you better find coach and stall while I take care of the bus.”

Jonny stands in the locker room, paralyzed and only half dressed, for about 30 seconds before he springs into action. He has no idea what Sharpy’s plan is and usually he’d be fucking terrified by anything Sharpy and Burr cook up together, but he doesn’t exactly have a choice and Sharpy cares, he cares so deeply, their talk just now is testimony of that, and what more could Jonny really ask for when it comes to allies. And it feels so good to have something to do, to have a goal, a task to accomplish, something he’s got control over, something he can fix. He couldn’t win them the game, but he can do this, he can go and stall coach so that Sharpy can set into motion whatever he’s come up with.

Jonny can do at least that, so he packs up Patrick’s gear, leaving only a pair of pants and a shirt behind on the off chance that Patrick pops back into existence in this locker room, shoulders his own equipment and gets on his way of finding Coach.

Coincidentally it’s Coach who finds him. Jonny’s crossing the hallway to the visiting coaches’ offices of the KeyBank Center when his name gets called from behind.

“Jonathan.” Coach has his eyebrows raised and his arms open, a questioning look in his eyes, “What are you doing wandering about? And where the hell is Kaner? Get on the damn bus, I don’t have time chasing after you kids.”

“My apologies, sir.” Jonny says sincerely, resisting bowing his head only by a hair slide. He can feel himself flushing. Their absence has obviously already been noted and if Patrick gets in trouble over this- “I have been meaning to talk to you. I have some thoughts about what has happened in the second period, what has lead to that stupid penalty, which I agree we never should have took, but- Look-”

“Shitty ref-ing happens, Jonathan. That doesn’t excuse this game.”

“Yes, yes I know.” Jonny nods, “I think our mentality going into the second was all wrong and that’s what cost us the game.”

Coach crosses his arms, eyeing Jonny for a moment that has Jonny freak out internally because he’s so sure that Coach is just going to walk away, telling Jonny they’ll talk about it tomorrow with the whole team or something. Then, “Go on.” And Jonny exhales deeply.

The amazing thing is, he doesn’t even have to make shit up, he actually does have a lot of thoughts about this game and contrary to what Sharpy believes (and okay maybe Jonny too when he feels particularly gloomy) he doesn’t think they are all on him. He’d be foolish to think that he alone could force a win into existence, it’s a team sport for a reason and Jonny’s got some thoughts about how the team might improve. By some miracle Coach is inclined to listen which allows Jonny to a) talk hockey which is always great and b) buy Sharpy about 15 extra minutes for whatever he’s up to while Jonny engages his Coach in conversation.

 

***

 

“I fucking love you, man.” Patrick grins, plopping down into the seat next to Jonny with precisely three minutes to spare. He’s wearing the clothes Jonny has left behind for him (no shoes –fail from Jonny’s side there) and a tired look on his face but all in all he looks fine, mostly glad that they haven’t left without him. “I mean it, thank you, Tazer. I’m gonna pay your take-out share for a freaking month, I swear.”

Jonny shifts, shooting Patrick a side glance. “You should thank Sharpy. He’s made it happen.”

And Sharpy has. Apparently he and Burr have, at some point in time, managed to befriend some of the arena staff here in Buffalo and used that to their advantage. Jonny isn’t sure though, what exactly Sharpy’s smirkingly uttered ‘friendship’ was code word for since Sharpy had put it into air quotes but refused with an even more devious smile playing on his lips to elaborate.

Said ‘friend’ however had agreed to help them and the end result had been technical issues with the parking lot gate so the Blackhawks bus hadn’t been able to leave as scheduled, which of course had pissed everyone off majorly, except Jonny who had been secretly relieved and so so grateful for Sharpy and his quick thinking.

It’s because of that that Jonny doesn’t give in to the temptation of just taking Patrick’s gratitude as it is. That and the fact that he’s never quite felt comfortable with taking praise that isn’t rightfully his. Jonny might have contributed but Sharpy has been the heart and brain of their little diversion and Patrick should know that, even if it makes Jonny’s gut squirm uncomfortably. He isn’t exactly back to feeling jealous and after his talk with Coach his feelings about the game and his own performance have gotten a bit more bearable, but he’s still coming to terms with Sharpy knowing and Patrick having someone else in his corner. It’s a mean and selfish thought and Jonny feels ashamed even thinking about it, but it’s there and there’s no denying it.

“Sharpy?” Patrick looks surprised.

Jonny just nods, “He saw you disappear and after a minor freak out-” – _and him giving me a pep-talk slash lecture_ \- he adds mentally, “He came up with a plan. Which obviously worked.”

“Oh, huh.” Patrick frowns a little then moves to kneel on his seat, peering over the backrest at the back of the bus, “Hey Sharpy,” he hollers, “I love you!”

Jonny doesn’t see Sharpy’s reaction, but he hears the fondly yelled back “Go fuck yourself!” and the content smile on Patrick’s face as he sinks back into his seat speaks volumes.

“I was worried, you know.” Patrick tells him quietly just as Jonny’s about to doze off, the bus having been on the road for about 40 minutes.

“ ‘bout what?” Jonny refuses to open his eyes. He’s trying to get some shut-eye. Unsuccessfully, so, but Patrick doesn’t know that.

“Sharpy.”

That has Jonny slit open one eye, “What do you mean? I thought it was ‘cool to have a teammate know’ and since he was _so_ helpful that night of your birthday even more so.”

“He walked out on me.” Patrick admits voice so small that Jonny has to strain to hear him, “When I told him. He said I was crazy. I hoped he didn’t mean it, that at least a part of him believed me but…”

Jonny’s eyes fly open and he’s full on staring at him now, the gears in his head turning. He’s had no idea the talk with Sharpy had went badly. Patrick had seemed so chill, so _maddeningly_ chill when he’s told Jonny about it in the car and that had been part of why Jonny had gotten so upset, irrationally, but still. He remembers Patrick talking about how Sharpy didn’t _really_ believe him, but this-

“He called you crazy?” he asks voice equally low, trying to not let his anger show.

Patrick bites his lip, “He said ‘this’ is crazy. I don’t know. I just…” he trails off, shrugging and focussing his attention on his lap.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jonny feels like shit, or rather like a shitty person. It’s obvious that this has hurt Patrick, that he’s still a little hurt by it and Jonny has had no idea. He should be the one person who knows Patrick best but instead of being there for his friend Jonny has managed to make it all about himself, his own jealousy and hurt feelings over Patrick, over not being included and having the most important relationship in his life dubbed ‘weird’. He’s still upset about that and mad about not having been there but now for a different reason. A sudden surge of protectiveness is washing over him. He would have told Sharpy where to fucking stick it, calling Patrick crazy.

Patrick gives a tiny shrug, “I dunno. You were mad at me and I just hoped he’d come around.”

“Well,” Jonny swallows, making an effort to sound at least somewhat upbeat, “I guess he did. So that’s good.” _And_ _I don’t have to punch him in the face._

As pissed as Jonny is at Sharpy for this new revelation, it doesn’t change the fact that that is in the past and the Sharpy that has helped cover shit up for Patrick is the present Sharpy, who very obviously ‘has come around’. And that should be what counts.

“Really good,” Patrick says giving Jonny a small smile, then adds with a sigh: “Today was such a shit show, can’t wait for it to be over.”

“Yeah,” Jonny agrees quietly, allowing his gaze to linger on Patrick for a moment as he shifts trying to get comfortable. In the dimly lit bus with street lights passing by, filtering through the windows, he looks so incredibly young. And he is, Jonny reminds himself, he _is_ young. He’s not the guy yet that Jonny has met in his backyard fourteen years ago yet. He’s not the guy that Jonny has kissed for the first time when he had been fourteen himself and he’s not the guy that has taken Jonny’s virginity two and a half years ago after Jonny’s begged him again and again until he’d finally given in. He’s not the guy yet that has comforted Jonny through so many crises, whose arms feel more like home than his house in Winnipeg ever did. He’s not him yet but if Jonny squints, if he focusses on the way Patrick lazily blinks, licks his lips and gives Jonny this tired smile, then Jonny can see _that_ guy in him. And Jonny loves him so much it’s almost unbearable.

“Where did you go?” he asks after a moment, schooling his face into a neutral expression.

Patrick smiles. A good place then, Jonny notes mentally.

“A beach,” he says, leaning back, “At first I panicked when I realized I was in the water, but it was only waist high and it wasn’t freezing. I think it was some sort of vacation destination? There were a lot people around.”

Jonny raises his eyebrows, “Please, tell me you didn’t flash your junk at a full beach of families on holiday.”

“Fuck you, I stole a towel, asshole. I’m not an idiot.” Patrick informs him with a grin. “Seriously though, it was so nice, Jonny. You should have been there. It was warm and sunny, and I swear seeing pretty girls in bikinis is like the best cure for post loss depression.” He wiggles his eyebrows and Jonny groans shaking his head fondly. Patrick is such a tool.

“Hey, you should be proud of me!”

“For ogling girls at the beach?”

“I didn’t _ogle_ ,” Patrick objects, “I watched with appreciation. There’s a difference Mr Toez, I will let you know. I’m classy like that. And you should be proud of me, because I helped a kid find his dad.”

“Do tell.” Jonny says dryly even though he is quite intrigued. It’s fun to watch Patrick work himself up sometimes, him trying to get a rise out of Jonny or just get and keep his attention in any way he can.

“Well, so I was wandering the beach, right? And suddenly there was this kid, you know, like tiny thing, I don’t know maybe two years old.” Patrick explains enthusiastically, “And he was crying and I asked him why but he only spoke French and you know how I am with that godforsaken language-”

Jonny does know, better than Patrick thinks probably, because Jonny’s used it so often on Patrick, when he was younger unintentionally sometimes slipping from one language into the other because he was so used to doing so at home, and then later when he has wanted to annoy Patrick, or when he’d felt too shy to say something in a language Patrick understood.

Patrick continues animatedly, unaware of the tiny smile Jonny’s lips have curled into, “But I did understand ‘Papa’. And that’s kinda a universal thing, so I asked him if he was looking for his Papa and he nodded, so I took him by the hand and we looked for his family.”

“Wow. Good guy Kaner.” Jonny says sarcastically even though the thought of Patrick comforting an upset kid, talking to it kindly and helping it, it’s nice. It makes Jonny feel warm and a little fuzzy inside. He’s seen the way Patrick interacts with his sisters, has heard him talking with them on the phone and it’s painfully obvious that he’s a family person. He’s from a big family and he’s mentioned offhandedly before that one day he wants a big family of himself too. His exact words had been: “A small army of super awesome kids that’ll totally kick your kids’ asses, Tazer.”

Jonny has wondered then, and he’s wondering now, if him and Patrick have kids in the future. He’s nineteen and kids and getting married and all that feels really far away but even ten years down the line Jonny can’t really picture it, not because he wouldn’t want to marry Patrick (that ship has sailed years ago), but because the second most important thing besides Patrick is hockey. And hockey will still be there in ten years if Jonny has any say in it, and them playing hockey, both of them, that doesn’t leave room for a family. Especially if they aren’t out and the NHL can pride itself all it wants for supposedly being open and tolerant, Jonny knows better than to fall for that. He has grown up in locker rooms and the NHL is no different. He knows what most of these guys think and say. He knows there’s a reason why there aren’t any out and active professional players.

The idea of it is nice though, him and Patrick having a family of their own, so Jonny indulges himself for a moment, allowing himself a thought or two. He thinks he’d teach their kids French too. Because it’d be important to his mom and Jonny is proud to be bilingual. Also, it would piss off Patrick in the most glorious way.

“Hell yeah,” Patrick says and settles back into his seat, “It was good though. I couldn’t win us that damn game but I could help this kid find his dad. It felt good being able to do something, to fix something, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jonny agrees locking eyes with Patrick for a moment, “Yeah, I know.”

It’s only the next day after another shitty loss, this time against Florida on home ice that Jonny remembers a story his mom has told him once about how Jonny got lost on a beach they vacationed at when he was a kid. He doesn’t remember how old he had been and doesn’t remember it, never has, but for a moment, looking at Patrick angrily completing his postgame work out two bikes over, Jonny wonders.

 

***

 

**_ Christmas 2007, Jonny is 19 and Patrick is 26 _ **

They get a two day Christmas break so Jonny leaves Chicago the night of the 23rd of December after their win against Edmonton, the third in a row, feeling pretty good about himself and the team. He’s thought a lot about what Sharpy has told him in Buffalo, about Jonny having to pick his battles, about letting losses go and not burning himself out and he’s come to begrudgingly realize that Sharpy does have a point. Even if they won the last couple of games, which feels good, of course it feels fucking good, Jonny’s still feeling tense, has been all season, he’s just now noticing it.

It takes him a while to really put his finger on it, the feeling that’s been churning in his gut for some time now. There’s this underlying fear that has taken root inside him when he hadn’t been paying attention, that he’s somehow some way fucked up, that he took a wrong turn somewhere and that’s how he ended up like this, in the wrong spot, half way through the season with not nearly as much to show for as he’d wish for and Patrick nowhere near loving him yet either. It’s a feeling that has been growing for a while, irrational as it may be, that Jonny somehow managed to screw up what should already be written in stone somewhere in space and time. That exclude hockey of course. Jonny has no idea, except Patrick’s vague mention that they seem to stay in Chicago, how things with the Hawks develop. In the end it all makes him feel strangely powerless in a way he has never before. He’s never been one to just sit around and wait for things to happen, to work out for him, despite being good at waiting. He’s always known how to fight, how to work for what he wants but it feels different this year, like he’s stuck somewhere in between not sure in which direction to push.

Like Sharpy has said, he needs to find out when to hold on and when to let go.

His mom notices that something is up and while she can’t possibly know what’s going on she picks up on his changed eating habits. She asks him why he’s not eating properly, if that’s why he seems to have lost some weight, if it’s the stress. He brushes her off, saying it’s because of the tough schedule (because it is), but doesn’t mention how he still needs to find a solution for his stomach problems. The nutritionists have tested him on several food allergies and intolerances but nothing seems to be quite conclusive and Jonny is getting increasingly frustrated at himself and them. It only adds to the helplessness and it’s nothing he wants to talk about either. Just like he doesn’t want to talk about the necklace that David spots almost the second Jonny walks through the front door. It sparks some curious questions from Jonny’s parents which he all dodges more or less successfully.

The thing is, as much as Jonny loves his family and enjoys being home, it’s also incredibly exhausting spending a whole day surrounded by them. It’s not just the questions but simply the way Jonny has gotten used to navigating his life as an adult, with friends and a team sure but mostly as his own person. Being back home makes him feel like he’s back to being a teenager. His father keeps wanting to discuss Jonny’s play with him, telling him over and over how proud he is but where he needs to improve (Jonny agrees on most of it but it still gets tiring), David succumbs to silent glares with thinly veiled jealousy halfway through dinner, and his mom seemingly makes a mission out of reminding him again and again how much she misses having him home now that he’s so far away in Chicago, all grown up (it doesn’t seem to matter that he’s been gone, living away from Winnipeg for years now, at UND before Chicago and before UND he’d been living at St. Mary’s for most of the year).

It gets more than a little tiresome, but there’s one more imminent reason for Jonny to want some alone time and that reason is a text from Patrick that Jonny’s received around 3pm on the 24th. It tells him in clipped words to make sure to keep the backdoor unlocked. A few seconds later another texts arrives in which Patrick makes clear that his future self told him to pass this on to Jonny and that he himself is not every happy to be used as a carrier pigeon. Also a quick Merry Christmas with a series of smiley faces that have Jonny grin stupidly at his phone.

So when Jonny is able to make his escape after dinner, claiming to turn in early because he’s still exhausted from travelling and the game the day before, it may not be just to get away from his family but also for the promise of Patrick some time this Christmas.

His mom lets him go reluctantly, expressing grief about Jonny not spending the for Christmas Eve appropriate amount of time with his family, but she does let him go and Jonny only feels a tiny bit guilty.

He’s a bit disappointed when he finds his room empty that night. He has harboured a hope, born from Patrick’s text, that maybe Patrick would be there already waiting for him, having sneaked in through the back door that Jonny had unlocked hastily just after Patrick’s text, having felt just the slightest bit of anticipation. Patrick will come, that much is certain. Why else would he have his younger self deliver this message to Jonny? It’s just a question of when. He’d just said Christmas, Christmas could mean now –Christmas Eve- or tomorrow –Christmas morning- but he would come.

It’s force of habit that has Jonny pull out the list from his wallet, smooth it out over his thigh and run his fingers over the crinkled paper, taking comfort in how familiar it feels to his touch. It hasn’t occurred to him until now, but since the list is over, outdated, every visit from Patrick from now on will come as a surprise. Jonny is still waiting, of course he is, he just doesn’t have stopovers to look forward to anymore. There’s no more _’10 more days until Patrick’_ , no more ‘t _wo Patrick-days next month’_ anymore, no more anticipation that Patrick’s impending visits can build up in Jonny. Until now he hasn’t really been aware of just how much these little checkpoints had helped him keeping his head above water.

Now it’s just uncertainty.

There are no more dates on the list and apart from his visit in October Jonny hasn’t been visited by Patrick again. Patrick has become an incertitude, present _and_ future Patrick. Future Patrick in his visits, present Patrick not so much in what he does or how he is, but in the way he differs from what Jonny has expected, has imagined. He’s met Patrick half a year ago and never, not once before that day in July Jonny has had considered the possibility that once he’s met the Patrick of his time they wouldn’t be together after six months. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, rationally he doesn’t, but maybe a part of him has still believed that somehow Patrick would feel it, the connection they have, would know that Jonny is important and that going from there it wouldn’t be long until he’d realize that he loves Jonny. It seems ridiculous now, stupid even and Jonny feels embarrassed about it to no end when he allows himself to think about it, because it’s painfully obvious that Patrick isn’t even close to falling in love with Jonny. He’s started dating another girl only a week ago, from Chicago this time. Her name is Claire and Patrick can’t shut up about her. Jonny tries not to listen.

Another thing about Jonny’s own timeline having surpassed the list is that finding Jonny is all on future Patricks now. Jonny won’t be awaiting him anymore, can’t prearrange and make sure that he’s alone somewhere so it’s save for Patrick to show up, so they can seize what little time they have. He can’t plan ahead, he just has to go on living his life waiting and hoping that Patrick finds his way to Jonny. It makes Jonny feel helpless and even less in control than he’s been over this thing for the past fourteen years.

Jonny falls asleep to the thought of scribbled dates and empty lines on wrinkled paper. He dreams of locked doors and of carrying empty boxes, of snowflakes melting in blonde hair and the ticking of a clock.

 

***

 

_Jonny._

Jonny frowns, but doesn’t wake, pressing his face further into his pillow.

_Jonny._

_No,_ Jonny mumbles inside his head. He feels warm and cozy and comfortable and he wants to stay that way, preferably for forever.

“Jonny.” Patrick whispers gently once more and Jonny grumbles burying his face even further into the pillows. “Jonny, wake up.”

_No_ , Jonny thinks again, because Jonny is sleeping and Jonny is dreaming evidently and as long as he’s dreaming Patrick is here, and that means Jonny gets to feel his breath in his neck, lips brushing against his skin as he whispers for Jonny to wake up. He’s got an arm draped over Jonny’s waist and Jonny moves his hand down so he can interlock their fingers against his stomach. Jonny never gets to fall asleep with Patrick so this is clearly a dream, a dream Jonny doesn’t want to wake up from because when he does Patrick will be gone and Jonny will be alone again, so Patrick can fuck right off with his ‘wake up’ bullshit. Jonny’s a going indulge this dream world for as long as possible.

“C’mon, Jonny, wake up.” Patrick repeats, pressing a kiss to the spot on Jonny’s neck just underneath his ear, “Baby, it’s me.”

_Well, who else would it fucking be?_ Jonny thinks, but he’s stubbornly keeping his mouth shut, because speaking might break the spell and it’s a good dream, he doesn’t want it to be over. So instead he just lets out a breathy sigh, squirming a bit as he arches into the touch.

“I know you are awake,” gets mumbled into his ear next, a slight tone of amusement to Patrick’s voice. It makes Jonny shudder, because no, Jonny isn’t awake since if he was, then Patrick wouldn’t be here, because this is a dream and-

Jonny’s eyes fly open at the exact same moment that his heart skips a beat, tripping with the realization of reality and dream falling into each other because Patrick, Patrick’s touch, Patrick’s chest pressed against Jonny’s back the thumbing of his heartbeat, it’s still there, Patrick is still there, even though Jonny isn’t dreaming anymore.

“Pat,” he breathes, hastily turning in Patrick’s embrace so he can look at him, the room illuminated by Jonny’s bedside lamp that Patrick must have switched on when he had slipped into bed with Jonny.

“Hi, Jonny,” Patrick smiles, softly reaching out to smooth down some of Jonny’s hair that’s sticking up at the side, ruffled from sleep, “Merry Christmas.”

Usually Jonny doesn’t respond well to being woken up in the middle of the night, he’s not a morning person on the best of days, much less when he’s had trouble sleeping for weeks and hasn’t been asleep for more than four hours tops this night, but the euphoria having Patrick here, being in his arms, momentarily overwrites the tiredness Jonny usually feels in every fibre of his being when he’s first waking up. Patrick is here, Jonny’s Patrick and he’s not a dream so Jonny kisses him, leans forward, tangles one hand in Patrick’s curls and fits their lips together.

Patrick kisses back tenderly, bringing one hand up to cup Jonny’s jaw and keep him in place. The kiss doesn’t grow heated, not yet, even though Jonny can feel the potential tingling in his chest. For now he’s content though with just feeling Patrick close, feeling the love and affection bleeding through his skin with every touch, every second of contact.

“Hi,” he whispers back belatedly after they part and he’s settled back, lying on his side, his head on his pillow while Patrick mirrors him, one hand placed on Jonny’s waist where his thumb is rubbing smooth circles on the bit of exposed hip where his shirt has ridden up.

“Not that I’m not grateful,” Patrick says, “But I feel compelled to inform you that leaving your backdoor unlocked in the middle of the night poses a certain security hazard. Very unwise, Jonathan. Think of the burglars. From the statistics.”

He’s pulling this mock-serious face that he always does when he’s mostly joking but also a little bit serious. It’s a face Jonny loves because it’s so Patrick but in this moment it becomes an extra tad hilarious, causing Jonny to snort and bury his face in Patrick’s chest to muffle it.

“You told me to make sure it wasn’t locked,” he mumbles unable to keep the smile off his face, “Present you. He texted me.”

“Oh right,” Patrick hums, placing a kiss on the top of Jonny’s head, “I remember that. Go me. I was so pissed at my future me, didn’t want to do it, but you know…the good old, ‘I know you’ll do it, because I’ve done it’ never fails to work in the end.”

Jonny doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t _know_ , doesn’t really get why the different Patrick’s don’t seem to like each other much and why present Patrick might have been mad about having to pass on this message for his future self. It’s for Jonny too after all. And maybe that’s the reason he ended up doing it anyway. At least Jonny would like to think so.

“Do you…” Jonny begins, “Do you maybe know when the next you is stopping by? It’s Christmas 2007 right now. Maybe future me told you and If I knew I could add it to the list and you wouldn’t have to pass messages through present you.”

_And I would have something to look forward to_ , he adds in his mind. When Patrick shakes his head, giving him an apologetic smile Jonny tries to not look too defeated. It’s not like he has really expected there to be such a simple solution, but it would have been nice.

“I’m sorry, Jonny.” Patrick says, pressing a short kiss onto his lips, looking at him in a way that is prove of just how much Jonny has failed to not let his disappointment show.

“I know. It’s fine.” Jonny rolls onto his back staring at his ceiling for a couple of moments. That’s a thing he’s noticed about future Patricks, they all always say they are sorry, sometimes Jonny doesn’t even know what for and it feels like a blanket apology, like Patrick feels the need to ask for forgiveness for nothing in particular but for himself in his entirety.

Patrick is looking back a little sadly now and it clear in his eyes how much he disagrees. It’s not fine, but there is nothing either of them can do about it.

Jonny clears his throat awkwardly, feeling the need to say something, “It’s just- I didn’t think it would be like this. That’s all.”

“Like what?”

The shrug Jonny gives Patrick in response doesn’t seem to be very convincing because Patrick moves to sit up, so he can look at Jonny’s face better. There’s an unspoken question in his gaze, prompting Jonny to elaborate.

“I just feel like I’m doing something wrong.” Jonny admits quietly, searching Patrick’s face for any sort of clue, for what he doesn’t know, “Like there’s a point where I should be by now, but I fucked up so I’m not. With you, with hockey, it’s just-” he swallows, reaching for Patrick’s hand, just to have something to occupy his hands with and be it playing with Patrick’s fingers, “I didn’t picture it like this.”

It’s a foolish thing to admit, a foolish thought, Jonny is aware of that which is why he hasn’t spoken it out loud until now, has barely allowed himself to think it. He’s not a child anymore, he knows that things don’t always turn out the way you imagine them, there’s a gap between the dreams you dream and the reality you get, but this thing with Patrick it had been so magical from the very beginning, so beyond the rules of everything else that a part of him had believed that their reality would be different too. But it’s not and Jonny has a hard time coming to terms with that.

“What makes you think that there’s a point you are supposed to be by now?” Patrick asks quietly, “Couldn’t it be that the way things are right now, where you are, this point, is exactly where you are supposed to be now? With hockey and with me?”

“This is how it’s supposed to be?” Jonny can feel his throat closing up. He manages to keep his voice fairly even but something in the way Patrick squeezes his hand tells him that he’s not nearly as good at masking his emotions to this Patrick as he is to present Patrick, “I’m supposed to bring hockey back to Chicago, supposed to make this franchise relevant again, you and me are meant to do that, but I’m failing. I’m disappointing.” He exhales deeply, closing his eyes, because for the moment he can’t bear to look Patrick in the eyes, “And you don’t love me back. I’ve met you and it’s been half a year and you don’t love me back so I’m stuck waiting for you to realize that I’m right there. It fucking hurts how is that how it’s supposed to be? It’s cruel and it’s unfair.”

Patrick hooks one finger under Jonny’s chin, gently forces him to meet his eyes. “I know that it hurts Jonny. And I know that it’s not fair, but even if he doesn’t love you yet, you have the certainty that one day he will. No one can take that from you.”

“And what if I fuck up? What if-”

“You know that is not how it works,” Patrick interjects quickly, an unwavering certainty in his words “ _I_ love you. So he _will._ Everything happens the way it’s supposed to. If I don’t love you yet, then maybe I’m not supposed to yet, Jonny. You and mini-me, you aren’t there yet.”

“Everything happens the way it’s supposed to.” Jonny echoes, frowning a little. It reminds him of reassuring Patrick after the lake incident, telling him that he couldn’t die because Jonny has already met him later. By the same logic Jonny knows that Patrick will eventually fall in love with him, the Patrick lying in bed with him right now, gazing at him with so much love and fondness in his eyes, is living breathing proof of that, but it still tastes a little hollow, those words.

_Everything happens the way it’s supposed to._

There’s a finality in the way that Patrick says it that carries reassurance and suffocating finality in equal measures.

“Yeah, it’s-” Patrick says, pulling Jonny back from his thoughts, “It takes a while getting used to, you and I, we still- It sucks, I know that, believe me I know, having everything prewritten, predefined, Jonny. And I wish I could give you more of a choice. Fuck, I’m trying to, why do you think I tell you so little about the future? I want you to make your own choices, to feel like you are in control, like you are making the calls. I want that for you so much, having that free will, but…” he pauses sounding strangely solemn all of sudden, “I want you to live your life like you would if it weren’t for me, to experience shit and have _choices_ , god damn it, but I’m me and because of that things are unfair and cruel. That’s all me and there’s jack shit I can do about it.”

“What do you mean you want me to have choices?” Jonny searches Patrick’s face, for what he doesn’t know “I have choices.”

“Jonny, I told you that you and I will be together one day. That we are in love and happy and that we belong together, I told you that when you were fourteen fucking years old.” Patrick objects, a somewhat pained expression on his face.

“Yeah, but you didn’t _make_ me fall in love with you.” Jonny argues, feeling strangely offended at Patrick insinuating that Jonny only fell in love with him because Patrick told him he would, “You told me that shit _after_ I confessed to you, after I had already fallen for you.”

Patrick shakes his head “I know, and I believe you, I do, but that meant that you were already in love with me when you met me, present me. You didn’t have a choice but be in love with a guy that doesn’t even know you yet. Don’t you think it would have been kinder on you,” he taps his fingers on Jonny’s chest, right where Jonny’s heart is beating against his ribcage, “If you and I would have gotten to fall in love at the same pace, at the same time?”

“But we don’t.” Jonny says quietly a hint of defiance bleeding into his words. He’s been whining before, how things are unfair and how much it hurts, but that doesn’t change the fact that he loves Patrick and that no matter how crushing it feels right now there’ll be an end to it and he’ll get to be happy. _It won’t be forever_ , he’d told TJ ages ago and it still stands true.

_Everything happens the way it’s supposed to_ , Patrick may see it as a burden as something he hates about this whole thing, but Jonny has seen how much comfort it can offer too when he’s used it to comfort Patrick about his fear of dying. He’s just got to focus on that aspect. How many people who feel unrequited love for their best friend get that certainty, the insurance that it’s not going to be unanswered forever? Jonny is lucky, he realizes and Patrick isn’t an uncertainty, list or no list. He’s lucky, because there is no guarantee that Patrick and him would have fallen in love at the same time if they had really met for the first time at prospect camp, hell maybe Patrick wouldn’t have even become his friend without Jonny being able to win him over by telling him about their lifelong friendship that’s partially already pre-existing. Maybe Jonny would have been just as unhappily in love like his now just without the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. “And that’s fine.” He says determinedly, rolling over so he can straddle a surprised Patrick, “I can wait. I’m pretty good at that, you know?”

He leans down to crush their lips together in a hungry kiss, desperate to prove to Patrick and himself that for all his whining earlier he wouldn’t change a thing, he’s okay, he’s in love, he’s happy, at least in this moment right now he’s happy. Patrick’s mumbled objection, “But you shouldn’t have to,” gets swallowed by Jonny’s mouth and after a few seconds Patrick starts kissing if so somewhat reluctantly. It reminds Jonny a little of all the times teenage Jonny has had tried to get Patrick to fuck him by getting him hot and bothered by heated making out, while Patrick has always objected on grounds of their age gap and whatever else. There are no such reasons now, except maybe Patrick detecting Jonny’s attempt at distracting Patrick because he can’t bear seeing the guilt in Patrick’s eyes.

“What are you doing, Jonny,” Patrick groans, but his hands that have found their way to Jonny’s hips don’t push him off, merely keep him from grinding down.

“I want you to fuck me,” Jonny says matter of factly, letting his hands roam over Patrick’s naked chest, while pressing a kiss to his neck, nibbling a little at the sensitive skin there, “Do you not want to?”

“Not if you are upset.” Patrick says through gritted teeth, but he bucks up against Jonny’s ass, allowing him to feel that his cock has already started filling. It’s nowhere near hard enough for fucking, but it shows that at least this part of Patrick is somewhat interested, “Not if you are just doing this to- fuck” Patrick hisses when Jonny scrapes his teeth over one of his nipples, causing it to instantly harden.

Jonny is a little shy about this. It’s irrational, because Patrick loves playing with Jonny’s nipples, has almost made him come a number of times from simply giving them attention while Jonny had been embarrassingly dry humping Patrick’s thigh, but doing it to Patrick, it feels daring somehow and having him react like this, making an involuntary noise, losing his train of thoughts, it makes Jonny feel good. Powerful even. That much for not being in control.

“If I was future me,” Jonny pants, biting his lip and rocking his hips back and forth, basically rubbing his ass over Patrick’s rapidly hardening cock, “What would you do? If we were in bed together. You’d fuck me right, if I asked you to?”

“I-” Patrick breathes, one hand slipping from his resting position on Jonny’s hip a little further back, so he’s cupping Jonny’s ass through his boxer briefs, “Yes of course I would, Jonny, but-”

“Then please do,” Jonny interrupts him, leaning back momentarily so he can strip off his shirt, “I hate that you are stuck picking up the pieces and puzzling me back together from my freak outs every time you come here. I just want you. I want to be happy and you are happy in the future with me, but you also love me now, right?”

Patrick nods jerkily.

“Right, so just-” Jonny looks at him pleadingly and it comes a little more desperate than he’d intended to, “Make me feel loved, Pat. Please.”

Jonny doesn’t know if it’s that, his words, or the way he grinds his hips down once more, that breaks Patrick but with a whispered “Fuck,” Patrick surges up, crushing their lips together more fiercely and hungry than before, fingers almost scratching Jonny’s skin where they are placed on both sides of his face to pull him in, hold him in place. Patrick kisses him aggressively, with teeth and tongue and it doesn’t take more than a few seconds until he flips them over too, pressing Jonny into the mattress in one smooth movement, showing off his impressive upper body strength that’s sitting in those lean muscles of his.

“Fuck, Jonny,” he says, momentarily resting his forehead on Jonny’s collarbone, breathing out harshly, “I love you so fucking much. And I hate it-” he kisses then bites, then smoothes his tongue over the aching stretch of skin, “I hate that I make you so unhappy, I hate it so much.”

“You too,” Jonny mumbles, barely managing to suppress a moan. He’s almost forgotten but his parents are here, just down the hallway. The walls aren’t exactly thin, but he’s gotta be careful anyway, “Love you too, Pat. So much.” He fumbles a little until he manages to get a hand between them, wrapping it around Patrick’s now fully hard cock, where it’s rubbing against Jonny’s own still covered erection. He gives it a couple of strokes that have Patrick groaning.

“Yeah,” he hisses, “Like that, Jonny. That’s good, so good for me-”

Patrick has always been a talker in every situation and this, in bed together, is no different. Jonny is no stranger to Patrick constantly talking during, to his dirty talk, to breathy words whispered between kisses. He loves it almost as much as Patrick’s touch could listen to it for hours, but he’s also impatient with the need to finally feel Patrick fill him up again after over two months of nothing but his own fingers. “There’s lube in my- in my backpack.” He informs Patrick after letting out a silent moan as Patrick fits a hand between Jonny and the mattress, squeezing his ass.

“Can’t wait, can you?” Patrick chuckles but he untangles himself from Jonny and fishes Jonny’s backpack up from the ground, “That never changes, you know. You are always so hungry for me and I fucking love it. Can’t get enough of you either.” He’s back then, a packet of lube between his teeth,, wiggling his eyebrows like the idiot he is, “How could I? That glorious ass of yours is fucking addictive.”

He drops the packet of lube on Jonny’s chest, a wordless order to open it, while he hooks his fingers in the waistband of Jonny’s boxer briefs pulling them off teasingly slowly, but not without a hint of underlying urgency.

Jonny fumbles with the packet for a moment but gets it open eventually, handing it Patrick with an just slightly shaky hand. Patrick grins at him, coating his fingers generously, “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

Jonny does and only moments later he feels Patrick’s fingertip, slick with lube nudging at his entrance. Then he’s sinking in and Jonny bites his lip hard in an attempt to keep any sounds from escaping. He’s only semi successful because Patrick chuckles at the aborted whine Jonny lets out, pressing an affectionate kiss to the inside of Jonny’s thigh as he pushes his finger in deeper. There is only a second of discomfort before Jonny manages to relax, rocking back onto Patrick’s finger. He wishes he could get Patrick to hurry through this though, because as much as Jonny loves being fingered open by Patrick it doesn’t feel like enough tonight, he wants more, he wants Patrick’s hard cock that’s leaking onto the mattress right now inside of him, stretching him wide and open, hammering the point home that he is Patrick’s and Patrick is his and that this is them, them loving each other.

But Patrick doesn’t budge, just smiles at Jonny pleading, and adds a second finger while pressing his thumb to Jonny’s perineum and that makes Jonny’s mind go blank for a couple of seconds, completely overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure rushing through his body.

Patrick knows just how to crook his fingers, he knows the exact angle and depth it takes to brush over Jonny’s prostate, it’s almost effortless and frustrating in this perfect way that Jonny can never quite shake when he’s with Patrick like this. Patrick knows his body so well while Jonny is still learning and overwhelmed by almost every touch.

He throws his head back and has to bite down on his forearm to stifle his moan, squirming as Patrick keeps on fucking now three fingers into Jonny’s tight heat and it’s almost too much when he licks up a broad strip from the base of Jonny’s dick to the head at the same time, only to tease the tip with it for an agonizingly electrifying few seconds.

“Patrick, please,” Jonny finds himself begging, hooking one leg over Patrick’s shoulder in an ungainly attempt to pull him closer. “Just fuck me already.”

Patrick rewards or punishes him (Jonny isn’t entirely sure) by delivering a couple of hard thrusts with his fingers, hitting Jonny’s prostrate every single time, causing Jonny to arch off of the bed because his body doesn’t know if it wants to get closer or away from the source of this intense sensation.

“God, you are so perfect, Jonny,” Patrick pants as he pulls his fingers out in one slick movement sitting back on his heels and brushing his hair back with the hand that hasn’t just been inside of Jonny. He fists his hard dick that hangs heavy and red between his legs, giving it a couple of pumps, “I’ve wasted so much fucking time. Stupid mini-me, he doesn’t even realize what he has, what he _could_ have.”

Jonny feels almost mesmerized unable to take his eyes of Patrick’s hand, of the flush spreading down his chest and the way his core muscles contract every time he fits his fist over the head of his dick, “But you,” he pants, tearing his eyes away to lock them with Patrick’s heated gaze, “You have me.”

“Yes,” Patrick gives him a crooked smile and hooks his arms under Jonny’s knees at the same time. Before Jonny can realize what is happening Patrick has pulled him down the remaining bit of space between them so Jonny’s spread legs are now around Patrick’s waist who is still kneeling on the mattress, “Yes, I have you.” He says licking his lips and pressing the blunt head of his cock against Jonny’s lube slick hole. He pushes inside with a shallow thrust that makes Jonny bite back a cry and drop his head back to the pillows, while blindly reaching out for Patrick. By some miracle he understands and while Patrick pushes in centimetre by centimetre he kisses Jonny lazily, the slide of his tongue against Jonny’s inside his mouth so damn distracting and still not enough to take away the edge of pain that rides along the pleasure that courses through Jonny at the sensation of being stretched open so widely.

This position—held down by Patrick’s body above him, fit between the mattress and the solid presence of Patrick above him, _inside_ him— it makes Jonny feel like he belongs. It makes him feel whole in a way he’d fail to explain even if he tried for hours. Patrick quickens his thrusts after a moment, going from shallow and slow to fast and deep within moments, making Jonny cry out in a way that should have him worried about his parents hearing but his mind is blissfully blank for the moment and he can’t do anything but clench around Patrick, who groans at that, his arms quivering. He’s holding himself up on his forearms showing off the strength in his muscles, but he’s not unaffected by this, not by any means.

“Jonny,” Patrick pants as he angles the roll of his hips so his cock nails Jonny’s prostate at the next thrust, “Jonny, Jonny, I’m gonna-”

Jonny barely registers his words, too caught up in the feeling of getting fucked, of being split open. He looks down between them, where his own hard and leaking cock is blocking the view but he knows, down there Patrick’s dick is stretching him open, sliding into his body like it belongs, because it _does_ and that thought alone makes Jonny bite down hard on his lip, holding in a moan.

He expects it to be dirty talk, a few more filthy promises, but what comes out of Patrick’s mouth next has Jonny’s eyes fly open. He hasn’t even noticed he’d pressed them shut.

“I’m gonna marry you one day, Jonny.” Patrick groans out, “Just you wait, I’m gonna-”

“What?” Jonny stares at him with wide eyes and Patrick freezes mid-thrust, glancing at Jonny sheepishly.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that,” he chuckles, the tip of his ears bright red. Jonny stares at him, very much disagreeing. Patrick should have said this and he should also keep talking because as embarrassing as it is, Jonny’s cock twitches with unconcealed arousal as desire shoots up Jonny’s spine at hearing Patrick say the words ‘marry’ and ‘you’.

“Shit, Jonny I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” he shakes his head, still breathless, his cock still inside of Jonny, “Not like this- I’m gonna- A real proposal, I promise I-”

Jonny shuts him up with a kiss that has Patrick’s arms give in so he’s crashing into Jonny’s chest a bit but Jonny doesn’t care, because how could he possibly care, when Patrick just said that he’s going to marry Jonny one day? He wants to marry him. One day, one day. That’s all Jonny needs in this moment, the promise of one day and Patrick warm and present and solid inside of him. His body is still gripping desperately at Patrick’s cock, even while the movement of Patrick’s hips has stilled and they are just kissing, or rather breathing into each others mouths with the occasionally drag of wet lips against each other, uncoordinated and messy but good, so good.

“It’s just that- They just-” Patrick mumbles against Jonny’s lips, “They’ve just legalized it, Jonny. Just a couple of hours ago. Nationwide. I was out shopping with my sisters and they said it on the radio and I-” Patrick squeezes his eyes shut, resting his forehead against Jonny’s, just breathing for a moment, his hands cradling Jonny’s jaw, the back of his head, like he can’t help it, needs to keep touching him, “God, Jonny, I wanted to call you and ask you to marry me right there over the phone while standing in the fucking Buffalo Mall.”

_They_ legalized it. They –America. Jonny knows how much Patrick loves his country, almost on an irrational, stupidly patriotic level that Jonny can’t even match half-heartedly when it comes to Canada even though he’s of course proud to be Canadian. They could get married in Canada any day, they wouldn’t have to wait for it to become legal, but something about Patrick’s obvious joy, the look of undisguised excitement and happiness in his eyes gets to Jonny. Of course Patrick would want to get married in America, if married at all, so imagining it, Patrick finding out that his country allows him to get married to the person he loves now (that person being Jonny is almost secondary) it gives him a level of second hand happiness that is matched only by the feeling the thought of getting to marry Patrick no matter where or when conjures up.

“I would have said yes,” Jonny whispers, “I _will_ say yes.”

Patrick grins widely, rocking his hips forward, once, twice, making Jonny gasp, “He has no idea.” He says, fitting one hand at the back of Jonny’s neck to pull him up just enough so he place his arm under Jonny’s shoulder blades and bring Jonny up with him as he sits back up on his knees, Jonny still impaled on his cock. It’s an impressive display of core muscles strength that would make Jonny’s cock grow even harder if that was possible. He’s sitting in Patrick’s lap now, arms looped around Patrick’s neck looking down at him, feeling dazed by the love and want so openly and undisguised in Patrick’s eyes as he gazes up at Jonny. “He has no idea, that idiot.”

It takes Jonny’s arousal drenched brain painfully long to understand just who Patrick is talking about, namely his younger self. What exactly present Patrick is an idiot for, what he has no idea about, Jonny doesn’t know and in this moment he doesn’t care, doesn’t want to think about him at all, the Patrick that doesn’t love him back. All he wants to think about is the Patrick that’s promising to marry Jonny one day.

“I don’t-” Jonny begins but interrupts himself with a moan as Patrick bucks up into him, driving his cock directly against Jonny’s prostate, “I don’t want to talk about- about him.”

“Lies,” Patrick pants teasingly, delivering another few thrusts, seemingly with ease, but Jonny can tell by the tremor in Patrick’s thighs, by the way he furrows his brows just the slightest bit, just how straining this position is for him, “I’m your favourite topic. You’d talk about me all day if you could.”

Jonny can’t do anything but laugh weakly. There’s an unwavering heat coiling in the pit of his stomach spreading through his whole body leaving sparks prickling everywhere, but he can’t- He needs-

His cock is trapped between his belly and Patrick’s rubbing against his tensing abdominal muscles with every thrust and it’s good, so good, but not enough, Jonny needs his hand and he can’t he needs both hands to hold on to Patrick’s shoulders for balance and Patrick’s hands are on his hips keeping him steady.

“I need-” Jonny gasps but clasps his mouth shut pressing his face into Patrick’s shoulder as another shiver of pleasure rolls down his spine, colliding with the pent up frustration of his cock screaming for attention as it has gone untouched almost the whole time now. “Patrick, please.” He sobs feeling overwhelmed and horrified by the tears that slip out of the corner of his eyes despite him having pressed them shut so quickly.

“Patrick, please.” he all but whimpers, blinking vigorously, when Patrick punches out a particularly forceful thrust Jonny can feel in every last cell of his body.

Patrick smiles -fucking smiles- and presses a kiss to the corner of Jonny’s mouth then, undoubtedly tasting the salt of Jonny’s tears there, “It’s okay,” he whispers, “I got you, Jonny. I got you.”

He has to lean back a little to bring enough space between their torsos that allows him to slip his hand there, finally wrapping his fingers around Jonny’s cock. Jonny almost comes then and there, stretched so thin and tension rippling through him like it’s unstoppable. He cries out, every thought of keeping quiet having long vanished from his mind, all he can think about is Patrick fucking into him while jerking his cock in the same rhythm.

It only takes a couple of strokes until Jonny is coming, his cock spitting come over his and Patrick’s abdomens. It’s like nothing else, this feeling of contracting around Patrick’s hard cock inside of him involuntarily, overwhelmed by the force of his own orgasm all while Patrick continues to fuck into him, grunting with strain and pleasure. It’s almost too much, but Jonny feels unable to do anything but hold onto Patrick burrowing his face in his shoulder and digging his fingernails into his back, hoping Patrick’s skin will absorb all of his sobs as he’s unable to hold them in, not when he’s feeling so sensitive from coming and Patrick is till hitting his prostate every time he shoves back in.

“I love you.” Patrick gasps, but it’s so broken by arousal that Jonny can barely make the words out, “I love you so much, Jonny.” The next thing Jonny knows is that his back hits the mattress again and Patrick is above him, fucking into him once twice and then stilling as he finally comes, while Jonny’s spent cock twitches weakly where it’s lying on his stomach, a fruitless attempt at getting hard again.

The next thing Jonny feels is Patrick being gone.

He doesn’t even get to pull out, he’s just gone. One second he’s there, panting into Jonny’s neck, sweaty forehead pressed against him and the next he’s gone and there’s nothing but empty air above Jonny. His hole is clenching around the sudden emptiness that Patrick’s cock has left behind and Jonny just lies there for a few long moments, legs spread and Patrick’s come leaking out of him staring at the ceiling, waiting for his breathing and heartbeat to return to normal.

He knows he should get up, clean himself up, maybe change the sheets but he doesn’t have the energy for any of that so instead he just crawls back under the covers, hugging his pillow trying to catch some of Patrick’s scent while he rationally knows that Patrick hasn’t been here long enough to leave anything behind but the traces on Jonny’s body.

He thinks about Patrick returning to his time then, to his Jonny. Maybe Patrick will call him now and ask him, or maybe he hops on a plane to get wherever Jonny is, ask him in person. Jonny tries to picture it but his mind draws a blank when it comes to his future self. He can only picture himself, how he is now with Patrick, no one else. And he doesn’t want to, he realizes. It’s a strange feeling to say the least, but Jonny is jealous. He’s jealous of his future self because while Jonny is stuck here in the bleak present left to hold onto promises like ‘Everything happens the way it’s supposed to’ and ‘one day’ his future self gets to have Patrick all the time, he gets to be loved by him. There is no ‘it’s supposed to happen’ it has already happened for him. _Is_ happening.

He wonders if that is how Patrick feels about his future selves too, why he never seems to like them much. Because he too wants to be _then_ and not now.

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here you go. I hope you enjoyed this :) If so, please tell me.


	8. Chapter 8

**_ December 2007/January 2008, Jonny is 19 and Patrick is 19 _ **

Last year Jonny has stood on the street in front of his house, next to his parents and his brother, watching fireworks paint the night sky in bright colourful explosions, feeling nothing if not determined, a grim smile on his face, sure beyond doubt that this year, that 2007 would be his year, the year he would make it to the NHL, the year he would prove himself. 2006 had been the year of his draft, his second year at UND and looking back on it he had felt incredibly proud and yet aware of how much work lay ahead of him in 2007, how hard he’d have to push himself to reach his goal, making the team.

And he has, Jonny has made it, 2007 has delivered, his hard work has payed off and now Jonny’s here, the last minutes of 2007 ticking by, celebrating the night with his team, the team he fought so hard to become a part of.

Ever since he’s been old enough to really think about it, Jonny has always felt torn about New Year’s resolutions, the idea of needing a set point in time to better yourself being inherently foreign to him because Jonny doesn’t believe in wishing, and dreaming, pure luck and miracles and just being given things. He believes in hard work and dedication and getting what you want because you earn it. So why would he need a certain calendar date to start working on himself and reaching his goals?

Jonny has been dreaming of playing hockey in the NHL for as long as he can remember and equally as long has he worked for it. He’s spend hours upon hours at sub-zero temperatures on his outdoors rink and whenever he couldn’t, being it because his mom hadn’t let him or the summer melting the ice, Jonny had worked out in his room, always with one goal in mind –getting better, improving. Jonny knows that he’s not one of those guys with bright and burning natural talent, things don’t just fall into his lap, he’s always had to work for them, work for getting where he is now, and in a way that has only motivated him more. Because he may never be the best, but he can always be better. That is what Jonny thrives for and he doesn’t need New Year’s Eve to motivate himself for it. He likes it more as some sort of recap, as an opportunity to look at how far he’s gotten and how far he still has to go.

That is what Jonny believes in whole heartedly, in taking control of his own fate. At least when it comes to most things.

There has, however, always been a flipside to New Year’s Eve, New Year’s resolutions, and Jonny’s relationship to them and that side is Patrick. He and his connection to Jonny have always been beyond Jonny’s control and comprehension so every New Year’s, every turn of the year has marked another year going by without Jonny meeting Patrick, another year of waiting and wishing, because when it comes to Patrick, Jonny has always had to wish.

Watching fireworks, ‘wishing’ for the NHL, for hockey, has always been more of mental list of goals, of him visualizing them, while harbouring a burning certainty that if he only worked hard enough they would be within his reach. Meanwhile wishing for Patrick, staring up at the bright lit night sky, hoping, praying that this might be the year he finally finds him, couldn’t have been more different. The dream of meeting Patrick has always been a wish in its truest form, stripped bare of any certainty of Jonny being able to achieve this particular goal out of his own will and strength. Because for a long time the idea of ‘present Patrick’ has never been in Jonny’s control, there has never been anything for Jonny to do, no way for him to work towards the goal of meeting Patrick.

So Jonny had stood there, while 2006 changed into 2007, imagining that with every passing tick of the clock the day he would finally meet Patrick would get a little closer. Now, 365 days later, Jonny doesn’t quite know what to wish for. Patrick has always been ‘just waiting’ from Jonny’s part and that hasn’t changed much, even now that he’s met him. Jonny has met Patrick, 2007 has given him Patrick and yet here Jonny is, asking himself quietly if Patrick still fits in that second category, in the ‘beyond Jonny’s control section’. Jonny is still very much waiting and still feeling helpless and out of control (at least that’s how it has felt the past few months) but there’s something else now. Ever since Patrick’s visit on Christmas Jonny has felt something shift, a slow realization trickling into his consciousness.

Patrick is no longer just a wish, he is real now, a real part of Jonny’s life and time, but he’s there and he may not love Jonny yet, but he will, Jonny’s got that promise, that certainty. He just needs to get them there. Patrick has said that everything happens the way it’s supposed to, that Jonny can’t fuck up, that they end up together, because that’s how it has already happened for him and Jonny believes him but it leaves him in a strange limbo caught between wondering if this strips him off control or if it actually offers him more. Because maybe the way things are supposed to happen contain Jonny working for it, working on himself, getting better, improving. He’s worked for all good things in his life why would Patrick be any different?

He isn’t, Jonny has come to realize, because Jonny has always been more in control than he had originally thought about this thing with Patrick. At least in some ways. When fourteen years old Jonny had admitted his feelings to Patrick that had been his choice, Jonny’s choice. He had done that and if he hadn’t Patrick might have never told Jonny about them being in love. It may have been prewritten or foretold in some cosmic time related way, since it had already happened to the Jonny from this future Patrick’s time, but for Jonny himself, him being fourteen years old with a massive crush, it had been the present, the reality and ultimately his choice.

If he thinks about it that way, he doesn’t feel helpless anymore. He feels determined. He’s done whining about unrequited feelings, he’s done feeling inadequate and lonely. Patrick is his friend and yes, one day he will be more and Jonny is aching for that day, but if Patrick’s friendship, that wonderful weird and amazing thing, is all he can get right now he will take it. It may hurt not being more for Patrick when he is more for Jonny, but it’s also something that he’s coming to terms with. And at least he knows it’s not going to be forever.

“Happy New Year’s,” Jonny says, plopping down on the couch next to Patrick and Claire who are heavily making out, have been ever since the countdown has started. They haven’t even stopped to cheer with the rest of their small party here at Sharpy’s house.

Patrick tears his lips away at the sound of Jonny’s voice, grinning at him brightly, while Claire gets up telling them she’s going to organise some refilled champagne glasses for them. “You too, dude. Here’s to 2008.” he answers, fondly pulling Jonny into a quick bro-hug and Jonny takes it, mindful to not let himself linger too long. Patrick is still smiling when he pulls back.

“Last year on New Year’s Eve, I had a feeling,” he tells Jonny, leaning back into the couch, “that 2007 would be important.”

“Well, it was,” Jonny can’t help but snort as he rests his elbow on the back of the couch. 2007 has been the year that Patrick knew he would get drafted, now that he was draft-eligible, it makes sense for him to ‘have a feeling’ about 2007 being important. Everyone knowing Patrick’s OHL stats and date of birth could have made the same assessment.

Patrick waves his hand though, seemingly aware of what Jonny’s thinking. “I don’t mean because of the draft.”

“No?” Jonny raises his eyebrows, intrigued.

“I think it’s this…” Patrick pauses, licking his lips that are still so very red from the kissing earlier and Jonny tries really hard not to focus on that, “It’s my time travel thing. It feels different now.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick sighs, seemingly a bit frustrated at his own inability to explain or even understand, but also drunk enough to not get too worked up about it, “It’s just different.”

Jonny considers what to reply for a moment, but if Patrick doesn’t know _how_ exactly this undefined part of him feels different there is no way for Jonny to make an educated guess. The only thing he can think of as a significant time travel related event occurring in 2007 is him and Patrick finally meeting in their original time line, really meeting.

“Good or bad?” Jonny asks carefully.

Patrick tilts his head like that question hasn’t occurred to him yet and he has to mull it over first.

“Good,” he answers eventually, a thoughtful look in his features, “I think it’s good.”

“Okay,” Jonny smiles and so does Patrick as Claire comes back, handing him a glass filled with sparkling champagne.

 

***

 

**_ Jonny is 13 and Patrick is 31 _ **

Having a crush sucks. Jonny has come to this conclusion with a whole total of one personal experience with this matter, but he’s fairly confident in his assessment. He’s observant and watching his friends act like idiots and having Jenny and her friends giggle every time he walks by isn’t exactly proving him wrong.

Jonny is the first one to role his eyes when his friend Nico starts gushing about their math teacher Mrs. Hendrix for the hundredth time a day, aware of how ridiculous it sounds, because the woman is twenty-nine and there is no way she’d have any sort of interest in Nico and his acne and not yet broken voice. Besides he doesn’t even know anything about her so Jonny is honestly confused as to what this crush of his friend is based on, because sure, he guesses she’s kind of good looking but what does Nico even imagine talking to her about? His math homework?

As it turns out, Nico isn’t really interested in _talking_ to her though, so there is that. Sex seems kind of weird and gross and Jonny’s not really sure what to think about it. He just knows that when he thinks about kissing Patrick his stomach feels all fluttery and sometimes he has to touch himself then. And that’s maybe the worst thing about crushes, Jonny’s own crush on his time traveling best friend who just happens to be always over a decade older than Jonny himself, that makes Jonny feel like an idiot, because he can judge Nico all he wants for his obsession with Mrs. Hendrix, at the end of the day Jonny isn’t much better at being interested at someone in his own league.

And that’s just the icing on the cake of being thirteen years old, somewhere between being a child and becoming a teenager. Being thirteen years old and crushing on an unobtainable adult who is way out of his reach in more than just the fact that his presence in Jonny’s life could be described as sporadic at best. Jonny is well aware of that and he’s got no illusions whatsoever to Patrick liking him back, but it’s just so hard sometimes, to not let himself hope, because Patrick is smart and strong and funny and Jonny doesn’t ever feel more like himself than when he’s talking to Patrick and he can’t imagine feeling about anyone else that way.

If only Patrick was younger, closer to his age.

 “Patrick?” Jonny asks, fiddling with the roll of tape he’s got lying on the ground next to him. Patrick’s meant showing him how to tape his stick better, but there’s a question that’s been gnawing on Jonny’s mind and he figures just getting it out will help him focus on more important things, like how he can improve his wrist shot.

“Yes, Little Jonny?” Patrick singsongs and Jonny can honestly not believe how he’s so into a guy like that.

“Why are you always older than me? I mean…” he asks, forgoing his mandatory complaint about Patrick using that nickname because he’s been thinking about this for a while now and he’s realized that he’s never actually asked Patrick about it, “You never travel here when you are my age? At least you never have. You are always-” he vaguely gestures towards Patrick’s- well everything.

He’s so good looking it’s honestly not fair, and so –grown up. He’s taller than Jonny and he’s got broad shoulders, lean muscles on his whole body and if that weren’t enough to drive Jonny crazy, there’s also how fuzzy Jonny’s stomach feels when he makes Patrick laugh and the indescribable skill in Patrick’s hands when he’s got a stick and a puck and-

The first time Jonny has jerked off, being twelve and pretty much overwhelmed, he’d involuntarily thought about Patrick and well, that has never quite stopped, even when Jonny has actively tried picturing girls or even other guys. It has never quite worked as well. He remembers having had a mild freak out about that, leaving him almost unable to look Patrick in the eyes at his next visit, which has led to a lot of concerned questions from Patrick and stubborn embarrassed silence from Jonny.

“I’m just wondering,” he adds feigning nonchalance, “Did you not travel as a child? Like, did it only start as an adult or something?”

It’s a bit of a silly thought and Jonny is very much embarrassed by it, but since he’s pretty sure that his crush on adult Patrick is doomed to stay just that –an unrequited crush- he’s figured that maybe a Patrick that was Jonny’s age might perhaps come with at least the chance of liking Jonny back, them being the same age and all that.

Patrick shakes his head though and Jonny tries not to let his disappointment show. He hasn’t truly entertained hope, why would teenage Patrick suddenly start showing up when there has been nothing but adult Patricks for the past eight years.

“No, I’ve always travelled ever since I was five,” Patrick tells him, putting down his stick and turning his gaze to Jonny, “The same age you were when you were visited by me for the first time, actually.”

“Oh,” Jonny frowns, “Then why never to me? The youngest you I’ve met was… uhm… I think-”

“Early twenties,” Patrick supplies. Jonny ignores the deliberate vagueness of that answer. Patrick probably knows his exact age, but chooses for whatever reason to not disclose it.

“Well, why does it start _then_?” Jonny inquires looking at Patrick intensely, hoping for some kind of clue, a give-away in Patrick’s expression, “Why not before or later? There’s gotta be a reason.”

“Oh, there’s gotta be, huh?” Patrick raises his eyebrows, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes, “When were you promoted to time travel logic expert, hm? Why was I not invited to the ceremony? I would have brought flowers.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jonny scoffs giving Patrick a shove, “I’m just wondering.”

“And what makes you think I can answer this, Jonny?” Patrick replies, severely unimpressed by Jonny’s attack, “If I don’t even know why this travelling is happening at all.”

“I don’t know!” Jonny says, suddenly feeling defensive, “I just thought maybe at some point you figure something out in the future, with all that science and technology stuff, like… the internet. Or something.”

“Hey, hey, don’t get mad at me.” Patrick interjects quickly and Jonny flushes at his little outburst. Sometimes his emotions seem to be all over the place these days and it’s pretty annoying. “If I could have travelled to you as a kid I would have, trust me on that.”

“Really?”

Patrick shrugs and something about the casualness of it makes Jonny feel warm inside “Yeah, of course. It’s lonely, not knowing my best friend yet, so if I could have had that sooner it would have been great, but… things don’t work that way. Sorry.”

“Do you think you would have liked me?” Jonny blurts out before his mind can stop the words, “I mean- no. Forget it. Whatever.”

“If child me would have liked child you?”

Of course Patrick is able to fill in the blanks and make sense of Jonny’s rambling and while Jonny used to like that, it just deepens his embarrassment right now, so Jonny very pointedly starts peeling off the tape from his stick and not making eye contact. Patrick seems unconcerned by that though.

“I’m kind of biased but I would like to think so,” he continues, “Being your friend is my favourite thing in the world and having that while growing up, heck that would have been awesome. You would probably haven driven me mad half the time, but what else is new, right?” Patrick jokes, nudging Jonny with his shoulder, a bright and sunny grin on his face.

“Being your friend also is my favourite thing.” Jonny admits quietly. It’s true, he may have those confusing thoughts and feelings about Patrick, this sucky crush thing, but in the essence being Patrick’s friend, it’s already pretty awesome and Jonny thinks if that’s all he can get then that’s okay, because Patrick is a great friend. Nobody listens to Jonny the way he does, taking him serious but not letting him get away with any bullshit either. He calls Jonny out on shit, challenges him and sometimes it feels like he’s treating Jonny as an equal whose opinion he values and not like a kid and Jonny likes that a lot. It should stand in contrast to the times where Patrick is so strangely protective of Jonny, but it doesn’t and Jonny likes that too. He also likes how smart Patrick is when it comes to hockey and sports in general. One time Jonny has gotten him rambling on and on about statistics and tactics and while some of it has gone straight over Jonny’s head it had been mesmerizing to watch Patrick being so passionate and yet analytical about something.

“Aww, how cute of you, Little Jonny.” Patrick coos, clutching his chest, “I’m very touched.”

Sometimes Patrick is just a douche though. And embarrassingly so, sometimes Jonny likes that too.

“Oh, fuck off you said it first.” Jonny snaps but allowing Patrick to pull him into a sideways hug.

“Well, I’m also very cute then.” Patrick simply says, ruffling Jonny’s hair.

Jonny shoves him off, causing him to laugh while Jonny glares at him. it’s something Patrick has done a million times when Jonny has been younger but lately being touched by Patrick even though it’s always so maddeningly innocent and without any intent whatsoever, it’s making Jonny feel things and those things make him feel torn between wanting Patrick to touch him more and running away so save them both the embarrassment of Jonny-

“Did you tell mini-you about me?” Jonny asks quickly, as a distraction for himself and for Patrick so he doesn’t notice how red Jonny has turned, “I mean you visit him sometimes too, right? Or is that- Oh right, it’s the ‘it’s not good to know too much about your future’ again, isn’t it?”

Patrick pulls a face, “I’m kind of predictable with that line, aren’t?”

Jonny shrugs. “It’s just… it’s a good thing, us being friends. And you said that it’s lonely for mini-you not having that. So wouldn’t it be nice for you to know that… that I exist and that we’ll be friends? One day?”

“Of course it would be nice, but it’s-” Patrick halts, licking his lips and rubbing his chin, “Look, I know I’m not always the best at following this rule myself, I break it fairly often for you, you pain in the a- butt, by the way, but… There’s a reason for it you know? That I try to not tell you too much, even if it’s just ‘harmless’ stuff or ‘good’ things.”

“Why? I mean, what’s the harm in telling you that you get a friend at some point down the line? I mean you told _me_ that.” Jonny feels inclined to argue.

“Well, in my defence I was kind of trying to convince you not to have your dad shoot me, so I don’t think that should be used against me,” Patrick points out, but he does look strangely …guilty, and that has _not_ been Jonny’s intention.

He crosses his arms and stares at Patrick, “Fine, what would be the harm in telling me something totally mundane?”

“Jonny, c’mon, we had this talk when you tried to convince me to tell you what my job was.” Patrick replies, not sounding as exasperated with Jonny as his words would suggest. Instead there’s something in his voice that Jonny can’t quite put his finger on, almost like Patrick needs the reminder himself, “It would affect how you act and how you feel. And nothing really is mundane, even the little things can affect shit. I mean stuff. Look, imagine if I told you that you…uh that you really start loving coffee as an adult. In fact so much that you can’t even function without it in the morning. And-”

“Coffee tastes disgusting though,” Jonny interjects, feeling pretty adamant about having to point that out.

Patrick chuckles, “You say that now, but if I tell you you love it in the future, which I am right now telling you, no joke you do, you end up giving it new chances. If I hadn’t told you this right now, you might have held onto this ‘coffee sucks’ attitude for longer or maybe even forever, but as it is-”

“Yeah, but coffee doesn’t matter.” Jonny argues, perhaps a little childishly. He gets, sort of, what Patrick is trying to say, but arguing for the sake of arguing is a habit Jonny can never quite seem to shake.

“Maybe not in the grand scheme of things,” Patrick gives, but it doesn’t feel like a victory to Jonny because Patrick sounds sad or rather a bit melancholic if not regretful, “But we just don’t know. What I know is that knowing things about the future, even little things I didn’t think would be important, did have an impact on me and on others and the truth is that impact almost never has been good. Sometimes not knowing is kinder.”

“Do you-” Jonny swallows, “Do you regret all the things you told me? About us being friends in the future?”

To his surprise Patrick lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head slightly, “Asking the real questions today, huh?” He gives Jonny a smile, “Let me say it that way, I don’t regret telling you those things because in a way they made you happy, but I also regret them because I know how lonely they’ve made you. You miss me and that’s my fault. So maybe that’s why I never told mini-me about you, maybe because I didn’t want him to be lonely like that, lonely from missing you. Even if that’s pretty selfish.”

They are both quiet for a while before Jonny has managed to order his thoughts into a proper sentence.

“But you are lonely anyway.” he says, “You just don’t know that it’s not going to be forever. I don’t think that’s very kind either.”

 

***

 

**_ January 2008 _ **

They leave for a four days west coast road trip on the morning of January the first, set to play the Kings that evening and Phoenix and Anaheim lined up next. They’ve only played the Kings once this season, in late December, in which they had given up a two goal lead (one of which had been Jonny’s), and devastatingly losing in OT, so they are all buzzing with excitement and determination, impatient to finally hit the ice in LA and prove that that win should have been theirs. Jonny is no exception. He’s confident in their ability to be the better team if they give it their all tonight, which he tells the guys in the locker room. They mostly roll their eyes at him, but Seabs, clasps him on the shoulder and coach nods appreciatively and they’ve got a good energy going when they skate out for the first period.

The Hawks score early in the first but LA ties it within two minutes later and somehow Jonny feels like it’s slipping out of their hands, something shifts, something goes wrong and he’s skating his heart out, chasing the puck up and down the rink, the game fast paced and jerky going in too many directions at once and suddenly Jonny hits the ice face first, his right leg having given just as he’s changed directions. There’s a pain in his right knee flaring up that has Jonny grit his teeth and squint his eyes shut for a moment until he gets the pain under control, pushing it down, away from the forefront of his mind enough that he can get up, just before Seabs is there ready to assist Jonny if he needs it. Jonny wants to tell him to fuck off, that he’s fine, it was just a stupid fall, but then he tries to put weight on his right leg and the pain shooting through his body has him momentarily wish for lying on the wonderful cold ice again.

Thankfully Seabs is there to wrap an arm around Jonny’s waist, mumbling a quick, “I got you” before proceeding to help Jonny limp off the ice and directly into the tunnel. For a second there Jonny almost forgets about the game that resumes only moments after his skates hit solid ground. All he can think about how this is it, this is his season being over, because what if he’s torn something in his knee, what if he needs surgery, what if he’s fucked up and hockey is done for the season? He can feel it’s bad, it has to be, because when they cut off his underleggins his knee is already swollen and bruising up and the trainers exchange looks, carefully trying to move it, which has Jonny hiss out in pain.

He hears them mumble something about him needing an MRI, about a strain perhaps a tear, maybe surgery required, but all that really sinks in is that they are flying him back to Chicago tonight, without the team and Jonny embarrassingly so, almost tears up at that. He’s had sort of a streak going, three goals, three assists in the last four games, he’s five points behind Patrick in the rookie scoring race and they’ve got a little bet going between the two of them and now Jonny is going home and it’s the first fucking game of 2008, the first day of the damn year and Jonny is already failing his team by somehow fucking up his knee without even being checked by a King or something.

In the end the MRI reveals a second degree strain to his MCL, but there’s no surgery needed. Jonny barely feels relieved though, because surgery or no surgery, they say he’ll be out for at least four weeks, four weeks that Jonny should be out there fighting with alongside his team to get back on their feet after the historic loss in LA. Back in Chicago he learns that the game ended with a score of 9-2 for the Kings, marking the first time since 2005 for the Hawks to give up 9 goals in one game and Jonny is devastated by it. Usually he deals with tough losses by talking it through, reviewing game footage and coming up with strategies to be better in following games, but he can’t do that now, not when the days that lay ahead of him are filled with ‘resting time’ and careful PT and what not.

The media calls Jonny’s injury the more severe tragedy of that evening in LA, talking about how much the Hawks have come to rely on both their star rookies and how him being out will ruin whatever chances they might have had for the playoffs. His mom tells him when she calls him barely twenty minutes after he’s texted her the verdict from the couch at Seab’s place, knee propped up with an icepack strapped to it, that he should feel flattered by that if anything, proud of how important he is to his team, but in the end Jonny just feels like he’s letting the Hawks down, simple as that.

“Hey kid,” Seabs sighs when he comes home on the 5th, plopping down next to Jonny on the couch and closing his eyes with an exhausted sigh. “How’s the knee?”

“Better,” Jonny lies, picking up the remote to mute Sportscenter.

“Good, we need you out there.” Seabs says and Jonny feels a pang of guilt despite the affectionate tone in his friend’s voice. “And Kaner is insufferable without a roommate,” Seabs goes on, “I don’t know if it’s him needing company or attention or both, but damn, how do you do it? I think Sharpy was ready to murder him in his sleep by the time we were in Anaheim.”

“He’s not that bad,” Jonny argues and then immediately feels the tips of his ears turning red. Damn, these painkillers make him kind of loopy (and also slightly more preen to being weepy. He’s gotten teary eyed watching baby polar bears on animal planet just a few hours ago, but nobody needs to know that). “I mean-”

There are a million things Jonny could tell Seabs that are great about rooming with Patrick and his mushy feeling brain actually wants to, but that now how they talk about each other, so Jonny really needs to pull himself together.

“Relax,” Seabs interjects, kicking off his shoes and resting his socked feet on the couch table, “We love the little dude, you know that. No need to defend him.”

“I’m not defending him. He’s a real pain in the ass to room with and I’m glad you guys are finally seeing what a big sacrifice me rooming with him is for my sanity,” Jonny shoots back, surprised by how eloquent he is. He doesn’t mean it maliciously. Seabs knows as well as most of the guys on the team that Jonny enjoys rooming with Patrick and that no matter how much they claim to go on each other’s nerves they have both declined offers to have the room assignments switched around.

Seabs snorts, “Sure.”

“Oh, congrats to Duncs and Burr, by the way,” Jonny says after a moment of comfortable silence, “They deserve being named As, I’m sure they’ll do great. I’ve been meaning to text, but I-”

“You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, we get it, don’t worry,” Seabs reassures him and Jonny lets out a deep breath. “You just focus on getting better. And don’t rush shit, man. I know you want to get back on the ice but maybe a little break isn’t the worst thing for you right now.”

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” Jonny stares at him, but Seabs just shrugs, apparently unimpressed by Jonny’s glare or perhaps just too tired to really give a shit about his rookie’s affronted facial expression.

“I’m just saying,” he says, “The season is long and especially for a rookie and don’t think I don’t know you are still puking your guts out more often than not.”

“And how’s a break gonna help me with that?” Jonny snaps, a bit harshly perhaps, “I’ve told you it isn’t stress so all a break gets me is further behind in the race for the Calder trophy and missing out on games that I should help you guys win and-”

“It gives you time to focus on you and your body and your health,” Seabs says gently, eerily calm, “so you can figure shit out or something. I’m not saying I don’t miss you in the locker room with us, but I want you with us for a long time so it’s important to take care of yourself. I’m sure Sharpy’s already told you that.”

Jonny swallows, embarrassed that his inability to take a step back and take care of himself seems to be a topic between them veteran players on the team. For the lack of something better to say Jonny just looks back to the screen, watching the muted TV show scenes from some Basketball game Jonny couldn’t care less about. “I’m not even his rookie.”

“Nah, you are all mine, you intense little fucker.” Seabs says fondly, patting Jonny on the shoulder before getting up and wandering to the fridge, “Sharpy just likes taking care of all the rookies, not just his. ‘s kinda his thing even if he’s the first to tell everyone how annoying and no fun you all are.”

“Just because I’m not into being pranked doesn’t mean I’m not fun,” Jonny protests, “I’ll let Sharpy know that I am a very fun person and his brand of humour is simply juvenile and childish and fucking inconvenient most of the time so he can go stick his complaints up his ass.”

“Jesus, Tazer. Tell us how you really feel.” Seabs chuckles as he emerges from behind the fridge door stuffing his face with something that looks suspiciously like the leftover meatloaf Jonny’s been planning on having for lunch tomorrow, “If you need a sparring partner for pointless arguing please call Kaner, because I’m dead on my feet and Dayna and I wanted to get breakfast tomorrow so I’m-” he gestures in the direction of his bedroom, still chewing, “Bye.”

It speaks for how crazy Jonny’s been going alone in this apartment for the past few days, except for trainers coming over for PT and phone calls with his mom, that Jonny actually considers calling Kaner, just to have someone to yell at over the disastrous road trip the Hawks have delivered. The few texts they had exchanged haven’t been a sufficient replacement and of course no future Patrick has showed up either so Jonny’s feeling a little Patrick withdrawal as embarrassing as it is. It’s only been a few days but for all the resolve Jonny has felt at New Year’s, he’s feeling pretty much helpless and useless now that he’s side lined by his injury while Patrick is continuing to play his sensation of a rookie season.

 

***

 

“You never stood a chance anyway,” Patrick says through a mouthful of food, “My awesome is too much for you.”

“Get back to when your awesome has learned how to eat properly, you animal,” Jonny says dryly, listlessly poking at his food while Patrick wolves down the rest of his takeout, waving Jonny off with his free hand.

They’ve been discussing Patrick’s chances of winning the Calder and that had led to Jonny complaining that if it weren’t for his knee he’d still be in the competition too, to which Patrick had replied that he was still in the competition for the ‘almost winning the Calder’ title, and truly winning has never been a possibility anyway. It’s good natured fun after another frustrating day of PT and watching his team lose from the comfort of his own couch where no one can see him throwing a glass against the wall. Except now Seabs is missing one of a matching 6 piece set that Jonny has to replace before he notices and Jonny enjoys the distraction of having Patrick here than he’d ever be willing to admit.

“You are just jealous, cause you are on restricted exercise and that means you actually gotta watch what you eat,” Patrick says sticking his tongue out like the child he is. Jonny just rolls his eyes and rubs the edge of the knee-brace he’s gotta wear so he can somewhat walk without putting too much weight on his annoying fragile knee.

“Mhm,” Jonny makes a non-committal humming noise in response, listlessly picking at a green olive on his plate. He doesn’t really have to watch his weight and that’s a problem because my all means and logic he should but it’s only testimony how much he still hasn’t figured out his food problem.

“Any time travel trouble lately?” he asks to which Patrick just shrugs.

“Some jumping here and there but nothing too inconvenient.”

Jonny nods, “Well, you got Sharpy there if something happens, so…”

“Ugh, yeah,” Patrick groans, “Dude, he’s so annoying about it now that he’s come around, seriously. He’s asking me all these questions and shit. Like, what triggers it? Where are you going? Why does time pass differently? Blablabla. I mean, I don’t know either okay?”

“He just cares,” Jonny replies. At first he’s been still a little ambivalent about Sharpy knowing, mostly due to his own jealousy but ever since he’s been forced to stay home while Patrick went on road trips and shit without him, he’s been increasingly grateful to know that Patrick has had at least Sharpy in his corner, were something to happen. It’s a tad irrational of course, since Patrick’s been handling his travelling on his own for years before he’s met Jonny, but ever since the birthday incident, well, Patrick is not the only one who has nightmares about it sometimes.

“I know, I know,” Patrick admits freely, giving Jonny a smile before his eyes drop to Jonny’s still mostly full plate, “Dude, you gonna eat that?”

“Nah, have at it.” He shakes his head and pushes his plate toward Patrick, who flashes an even brighter grin before diving right in.

“Awesome, bro,” he says around a mouthful of food, wiggling his eyebrows and Jonny can’t believe how goofy he looks and how much it makes Jonny want to smile too. But then Patrick’s face falls and his gaze drops to his (Jonny’s) plate before darting back up. “Wait…” he says slowly, before making a pause to actually chew and swallow what he’s got in his mouth. “Your food thing… Still? I thought you and the nutrition-guys were working on it?”

“We are.”

“And?” Patrick asks, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing and.” Jonny says, doing his best to hide his frustration, “I’m still puking my guts out and they still think it’s stress.”

“You doin’ that yoga shit for that though, aren’t you?” Patrick frowns, pointing at Jonny with his fork.

Jonny chooses not to answer, mostly because Patrick knows well enough that Jonny is ‘doing that yoga shit’ --he sure has complained enough about it when Jonny’s done it in their hotel rooms—but also because Patrick doesn’t really seem to require an answer, in fact he’s already rambling on.

“Can’t they like, I don’t know, run some tests or something? For like allergies or whatever,” he suggests, “I mean people are allergic to all kinds of shit. Peanuts, eggs, berries, wheat, uh-”

“They did run tests,” Jonny cuts in, wrestling the fork out of Patrick’s hand since he’s in the habit of gesticulating wildly and Jonny’s not in the mood to add fork to the eyeball to his list of injuries. “But none were entirely conclusive. I don’t know. I think they are just really hell-bent on the whole stress thing.”

Patrick pulls a face. “That sucks though, I mean, you can’t spend the rest of your life throwing up everything.”

“Well, we know I won’t,” Jonny says and Patrick nods.

“Right, future me said you’ll figure it out. Great,” he mumbles, sounding slightly pissed as usually when the topic changes to his future selves. Suddenly thought that sour expression is replaced by a thoughtful one, “Maybe we could ask him what’s wrong with you? I mean he obviously must know.”

“Oh, he does know,” Jonny says, remembering that day in October, Patrick in bed with him, promising that things would be alright eventually. “But he won’t tell us more. Getting that ‘You’ll figure it out’ out of him has already been more than he’s been willing to give.”

“Yeah well, fuck him, then,” Patrick grumbles, “Giving half-assed answers like that doesn’t help anyone. I mean if he’s so hell-bent on being so spectacularly useless he should fully commit to it and not say anything at all, you know? What an ass.”

“He was… trying to comfort me,” Jonny says carefully. He’s not sure he’s ready to admit to Patrick just how upset he had been and how much he had pressured his future self to give him even that little bit of information.

Patrick is quiet for a moment, then: “Ever think he might be lying about shit?” He glances at Jonny.

“No,” Jonny answers firmly, rubbing his thigh where it’s cramping up a little from the way he’s been holding his leg to minimize the pain in his knee, “He promised me he would never lie to me.”

_But he couldn’t make that same promise for you._

Patrick shrugs and starts chewing on his lip, “You know leaving stuff out is lying too. Like, he could have just told you what’s going on with your-” He wildly gestures towards Jonny’s abdomen, “-but he didn’t. He chose not to fucking tell you even though he knew that you weren’t well and that this would go on for months and-”

“I’m fine,” Jonny pipes up unconvincingly but Patrick shushes him with a wave of his hand.

“Bullshit. My point is, he knows, but he doesn’t tell. On purpose. That’s a fucking asshole move if you ask me.”

“He- _You_ ,” Jonny begins but corrects himself quickly. It’s difficult sometimes, figuring out how to talk about the different versions of Patrick, because in a way they all seem like their own person when it essence it’s all Patrick, “You have your reasons. You want- You want me to have choices, to experience life as a normal person and if he just told me shit that would mess that up.”

“So that means he gets a free pass for letting you suffer when he could help you?” Patrick shakes his head, blue eyes wild with something Jonny can’t quite put a name on, “Nah, man I don’t buy it. Where’s my choice in that, huh? What about me?”

Jonny doesn’t know what to say to that so after a brief pause of Patrick staring at him expectantly he continues. “He’s so big on choices, yeah? Well, he _chooses_ to do nothing and because of that I’ll have to too, when I’m in his place in whatever-ass years. Choices. What a load of shit. If I had the choice of telling you something like that, if I knew, I would tell you right this fucking second, you can bet your fat ass on that and boom, problem would be solved.

He’s glaring at Jonny with an intensity that would make people question ever calling Jonny’s gaze ‘intense’ again, but something about it has Jonny’s lips curl into a smile. Patrick getting so worked up and angry, even if it’s at his future self, out of concern for Jonny, it’s a good feeling. Sure, Patrick is pretty carefree with his affections and Jonny does feel the need to further defend future Patrick’s actions, but for the moment he just enjoys Patrick _caring_ so vocally. It must show on his face because Patrick blushes after a moment and giving Jonny’s shoulder a soft shove.

“You can’t help me score if you are busy vomiting all over your skates, that’s all. Shut up,” he scoffs, “Besides you not being there means me having to do more media. _Alone_. And besides,” Patrick pauses and nudges Jonny’s still half full plate, “This can’t go on, man. Like, what’s the next step here? Just stop eating all together so your gastric acid doesn’t fuck up your esophagus permanently? That’s-”

“That’s it.” Jonny cuts him off, gaping slightly as an idea begins to form in his head, while Patrick just looks at him with confusion.

“What’s what?”

Jonny grins at him, “You are a genius, Patrick Kane.”

“...I… am?” Patrick stares back dumbly for a couple of seconds before he catches himself, “I mean, _duh_. Haha. But… uh…why?”

“I’ll just stop,” Jonny says because in the end, maybe it’s as simple as that.

He gets a squint in return. “You- okay, you realize that you aren’t actually a high-functioning Canadian hockey robot, right?” Patrick says, having put on a mock- educational expression, “This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, but you kind of need food to live, my dude.”

Jonny rolls his eyes. Obviously he doesn’t mean he’ll stop eating all together. Although, he could have perhaps have made himself clearer. He’ll admit that. “I mean I’ll just stop eating everything that they tested me on. Sure the tests where non-conclusive, but I’ve had some time on my hands as you know and I’ve been reading some stuff about the digestive system and-”

“Please don’t tell me any details about your digestive system.” Patrick cuts in.

“ _The_ digestive system in general, you dumbass.” Jonny kicks him in the calf with his good leg. “Any way, point is, gluten, dairy, saturated fatty acids, processed meat, I’ll just cut it all out. So basically I’ll adjust my diet to only fully organic and-”

“Fun-free?” Patrick supplies, his tone joking but he looks thoughtful like he’s considering Jonny’s idea.

“Well, living healthy and not puking is all the fun I need,” Jonny says smoothly. He’s been reading a lot about where allergies and food intolerances stem from and one of the most convincing theories had been that the body just wasn’t made for the way humans have modified their food and changed their nutrition over the years so maybe, trying to cut most of that out with the addition of some other stuff that he’s sort of tested reactive (but not enough apparently to really call it an allergy) could help Jonny.

“Why though?” Patrick questions, “I mean they tested you on gluten and this stuff, didn’t they?”

“They did, yeah.” he shrugs, “But I don’t care. The tests were non-conclusive and we aren’t getting anywhere. Future you told me to trust my gut.”

“And your gut is telling you to go full on food hipster,” Patrick states, looking sort of mournfully at the food on Jonny’s plate.

Jonny sighs and hands Patrick the previously confiscated fork, nodding towards the plate “Look, what do I have to lose?” he asks, mostly rhetorically, “The worst thing that could happen is that I keep puking. Which is status quo, so what the hell, you know?”

“Well, I guess it’s worth a shot,” Patrick says slowly. After a pause he adds, grinning sort of cheekily, “You aren’t going to go vegan though, right?”

Jonny snorts, “No way, man. I need my proteins.”

After Patrick finishes Jonny’s serving they settle on the couch more comfortably and play video games for a while before switching to watching TV which is fine because Jonny enjoys hanging out with Patrick like this even though the guy has the worst taste in movies but chirping him about it and hearing his defences usually makes up for it. Not this time though. It takes Jonny a while to notice but Patrick seems weirdly quiet and not nearly as responsive, looking somewhere between lost and thought and hyper aware of everything with a hint of something that Jonny identifies as guilt eventually, in his gaze. It takes him a while though to figure out what exactly has Patrick acting like this, but when it dawns on him Jonny decides to get Patrick’s attention by poking him in the ribs with his bare foot. There are things he can’t really talk to Patrick about so when he can Jonny likes to get things out of the way before they become actual problems.

“Dude, what?” Patrick says, not turning away from the episode of –Dancing with the Stars? Jonny thinks it’s a Dancing with the Stars rerun. Oh lord.

He clears his throat. “I’m not mad at you for not telling me what’s wrong in the future. When you are future you,” Jonny says and Patrick actually turns to look at him. “If that’s what you think.”

It’s immediately clear in the way Patrick’s face shifts that Jonny is spot on, but the reaction that follows isn’t what Jonny has expected. Patrick’s face goes through a series of emotions before eventually settling on anger, directed at either Jonny or maybe his future selves again.

“Well, you should be,” he says in a clipped tone, shooting Jonny a glance, before focussing his glare on the pillow he’s been sort of hugging while they’ve been watching TV, “I don’t get why you aren’t.” he adds, snippily “Why do you let him – _me_ get away with vague bullshit like ‘You’ll figure it out’?”

“I do get mad at you though,” Jonny points out feeling a small smile tugging on the corner of his lip. If Patrick only knew how much time teenage Jonny has spent making Patrick know just how pissed he was at him. “You’ll see. I yell at you quite a lot.”

That seems to soften Patrick a little and he smiles, shaking his head. “You yell at me quite a lot now.”

“Only because you yell back.”

“But why do you-” Patrick starts, but cuts himself off abruptly. He looks a little embarrassed, “I mean why do you forgive him? Me. Whatever. Like…” he hesitates for a moment, seemingly searching for words but in the end he just concludes with “Why?” and a questioning look directed at Jonny.

“Because I know that it’s not your fault,” Jonny answers but something about it has Patrick huff in frustration.

“But it _is._ I make those choices. Or have made. Will make,” he argues and there it is again, that look of guilt in his eyes, a subdued version of what Jonny knows too well from the way future Patricks look at him.

“Did you choose being a time traveller?”

Patrick frowns. “Of course not.”

“See,” Jonny says but when Patrick keeps staring at him he sighs, sitting up a bit straighter, “You time travel, Patrick. You go to the future and you see stuff. And you go to the past as someone from the future for that time. So knowing shit kinda comes with the whole package. You didn’t sign up for it.” Patrick nods so Jonny continues. “And I know… I _think_ that sometimes future yous know things they’d rather not know, because knowing those things hurts and they want to spare me that pain for as long as possible. For example, I had that cat when I was a kid, you know?”

“The one that you had to give away after three weeks because David turned out to be allergic?” Patrick asks and Jonny nods.

“Yeah, that one. I know it’s a shit example but I kept telling future you’s how excited I was and how much I loved that cat and you knew I wouldn’t get to keep her, but you didn’t tell me because then I would have been sad about it instead of enjoying those few weeks. Like that I could be happy about my cat for a little while at least,” he explains further, “And I was mad at you about that for quite some time. But just because I don’t like something doesn’t mean I don’t get it.”

Patrick makes some sort of grunting noise, scratching his head and tilting his head, like he’s contemplating Jonny’s words. It’s obvious that he doesn’t agree and Jonny doesn’t think he could convince him, they are both way too stubborn, but there’s something else Patrick wants to say, maybe to justify himself and his anger, Jonny can tell by the way he shifts so he waits patiently.

“My grandma died when I was like eleven or twelve or something,” Patrick tells him eventually, voice cracking the slightest bit, “But she was sick for a while, before she –you know. And I had summer camp with the Junior Flyers coming up. And I wanted to- He- I mean future me- he came visit and I- I fucking cried, you know, and I told him I was worried that if I went to summer camp I’d be gone when my grandma-” he clenches his jaw and looks away for a few long moments, “And that asshole told me everything would be okay. But it wasn’t.”

“Patrick-”

“She _died_ , Jonny,” Patrick says bitterly. “She died and I was busy playing fucking summer hockey because he _told_ me it would be okay. That was his choice. He could have told me not to go and he should have, but he didn’t.”

“…But…” Jonny wishes he was a bit more mobile so he could sit next to Patrick properly and maybe give him a friendly shoulder nudge or something instead of just poking him with his foot, but as it is he has to settle for trying to sound comforting, “But like that you got to enjoy your summer. Imagine if he had told you about your grandma dying. You would have spent all summer think the next day might be the day and that. I think he wanted to spare you from that.”

“He should have known better.” Patrick argues, “He should have known what _I_ want. He was in my place too once, for fucks sake. You’d think he’d know how I feel, but…” He shrugs helplessly, fumbling for the remote. It’s his way of telling Jonny that the conversation is over. “You made me miss half the episode, you ass. Thanks for that.”

“I’m sorry about your grandma.” Jonny says after a while.

“Yeah, yeah.” Is all Patrick says back, absently.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this :D If you did, please tell me


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here you go kids. Second half of our boys' rookie season

**_ Jonny is 11 and Patrick is 23 _ **

Jonny feels awful, has been for over a week now, ever since that hit from Cody the dick that had him crash into the boards head first. It’s a concussion the doctors at the hospital have said and now Jonny’s been exiled to his room, banned from working out and playing hockey. All he’s allowed to is lie around in his bed and feel awful. Awful because his head hurts so much and when it doesn’t he feels dizzy and sometimes he throws up when he moves too fast and also light hurts his eyes. Also awful because he can’t play hockey and Jonny _needs_ to play hockey, he needs to practice and get better, but his mom would kill him if he snuck out. She’s worried, he gets that but her hovering only makes Jonny feel worse, because she’s so mad at him for not telling her he had a headache already from a few hard hits during practice the week before. They say that has made his concussion worse, that he shouldn’t have been on the ice in the first place, which is bullshit, but maybe they are also right, because Jonny feels _awful._

Now that Patrick is here it’s not nearly as awful as before though, having snuck in after Jonny’s parents and David had left for aunt Gabby’s wedding, leaving Jonny with a sitter who’s currently downstairs watching TV since Jonny’s managed to successfully fake sleeping. Jonny’s got his head in Patrick’s lap, eyes closed and enjoying the feeling of Patrick carding his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp occasionally. It helps with the headache and Jonny likes being so close to Patrick. It’s nice, even though Patrick has seemed a little weird when Jonny’s told him about the concussion, apologizing that they couldn’t skate today. For a moment Jonny has wondered if Patrick maybe didn’t know what a concussion was (Jonny hasn’t really before the doctors had explained to him something about his brain being squishy and sloshing around in his skull like pudding), but Patrick has said he did and now they are on Jonny’s bed and Patrick’s been reading to him from the first Harry Potter book. The third chapter ends and Patrick’s voice cuts off. When several moments pass and he doesn’t pick up again Jonny frowns a little opening his eyes and tilting his head so he can blink up at Patrick.

“Can I ask you something?” Patrick says and Jonny’s frown deepens.

“If you want to know why he could talk with the Boa you have to read the second book.”

Patrick flicks his cheek and Jonny giggles but it hurts his head so he stops quickly and Patrick sighs.

“When you think about the future, what do you want? What do you wish for?” he asks, looking down at Jonny with questioning eyes. Jonny thinks this Patrick might be young, but with how hazy things feel at the moment he can’t be sure. Maybe it’s just Jonny’s sloshy brain that’s making Patrick sound so unsure.

“I want to play in the NHL. And win gold for Canada,” Jonny replies. “But I already told you that when- Oh, that was an older you, I guess.”

“I guess so yeah,” Patrick agrees, a somewhat solemn twist around his mouth, “But apart from that.”

“Apart from hockey?” Now Jonny is confused, what else would he wish for? Sure, also meeting Patrick and being real time friends with him, but apart from that it’s hockey. Always hockey. Patrick should know that.

Patrick nods though, like his question has made any sense. “Yeah, like marrying a pretty girl, getting a house, kids-”

“I’m eleven and girls are annoying.” Jonny gives Patrick a look as serious as he can manage. As if Jonny would be thinking about girls over hockey.

Patrick laughs lowly at that, eyes crinkling into a smile and that makes Jonny feel pretty good and he nuzzles his face against Patrick’s stomach so he can _feel_ his laugh. Jonny likes that a lot and maybe it’s because of that or maybe because of how warm he feels and how his headache is just a background throbbing right now, but the next thing out of Jonny’s mouth is: “I used to want to marry you.”

He blushes furiously the second the words are out, horrified at his apparent lack of filter, but Patrick just smiles, if so a little surprised. He doesn’t look weirded out.

“Me?”

“’s just because Cole in second grade always said that grownups are only allowed to live together if they are married,” Jonny explains. He knows it’s not true now, but back then he’d believed Cole at the time. “He’s said otherwise god gets mad and I know that you are catholic and so is my mom but I wanted us to live together when we know each other. As grownups. It would be like having a sleepover, just without having to go home.”

“That is so unbelievably sweet, Jonny,” Patrick comments and he just sounds the slightest bit teasing. Whatever, Patrick can suck it. He’s been a child once too and Jonny bet he’s believed all kinds of weird stuff.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. After a moment then he tilts his head again, finding Patricks till looking at him. “Do you have a wife, Pat?”

“No,” Patrick says and resumes running his fingers through Jonny’s hair.

Jonny squirms a bit, getting comfortable again and letting his eyes fall shut. He feels a little weird, happy for some reason at Patrick’s answer and he doesn’t quite get why. Maybe sleeping isn’t such a bad idea after all.

“So the NHL, huh?” Patrick murmurs, just as Jonny’s about to nod off. “The big dream.”

“I can do it,” Jonny mumbles back, but at the same moment there’s a loud crashing noise form downstairs like someone’s dropped a couple of plates, followed by a curse and Jonny winces at that, the noise ringing through his head with a piercing pain, that has him grit his teeth. There’re also maybe tears in the corners of his eyes but he’s elven and he doesn’t cry just because his head hurts.

Except that maybe he does. “I hate this. Stupid head,” he sniffs and Patrick sighs in sympathy.

“Concussions suck,” he comments.

“I never want to feel like this again. Ever,” Jonny whispers, “Next time I tell that my head hurts. I promise.”

He can feel Patrick shift and for a moment his hand stills in Jonny’s hair, then: “Why didn’t you?”

Jonny chews on the inside of his cheek. His mom had asked the same thing just with more yelling. “I dunno. I wanted to play.”

“In a regular fucking game?” Patrick sounds pissed and when Jonny opens his eyes he finds that written on Patrick’s face but there’s also worry and hurt in his eyes, “You should have talked to somebody it was fucking stupid of you, Jonny. Risking your health like that-”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Jonny frowns, hating how wobbly his voice sounds, “I didn’t mean to get concussed, I just- I wanted to play.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything and just presses his lips together, and looking into the distance, or well, the opposite wall of Jonny’s room where an old Gretzky poster from his dad hangs.

“I’m sorry. Don’t be mad,” Jonny tries, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

Patrick sighs. “I’m not mad, Jonny. I just don’t get it. You are so smart and you take such good care of your body, except when it’s your damn brain. And that’s- It’s your brain, Jonny. And then you thought you could drive? You could have died and I-”

“Wha-” Jonny blinks up at Patrick in confusion who clasps his mouth shut like he’s bitten his tongue off, eyes wide. “It’s… just a concussion?”

“I mean,” Patrick groans, sounding kind of helpless, “I just… I wish you weren’t hurt. That’s all. And what about your dream? You… you can’t play in the NHL if your brain’s all mushy.”

“ ‘m okay, though. The hospital doctors said it’s ok because it’s my first concussion. I just have to be more careful.”

A hint of pain flashes through Patrick’s eyes that he hides, by rubbing his face with his hands and when he looks at Jonny again it’s gone, Patrick just looks tired.

“Yeah,” he says, “You are okay.” Somehow he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Not just the NHL.” Jonny mumbles, getting a questioning glance from Patrick in return. “I mean things I want for the future. ‘s not just the NHL. Also… you.”

“Me?” Patrick asks for the second time today, again his voice full of wonder. It’s a bit weird, Jonny thinks, because Patrick should know how much he means to Jonny. They’ve been best friends for so long and yet this Patrick seems sort of surprised.

“I want to finally meet you. My time you.” Jonny explains, “So I can always have a friend who’s there. I want- That’s my dream too.”

“More than the NHL?”

It’s said teasingly, half a joke, Jonny gets that, but he can feel his ears go hot anyway and he knows he’s blushing and he knows Patrick can tell.

“Jonny?” he asks, almost smiling. Jonny likes that far better than Patrick looking sad, but he also wants to bite him.

“Shut up. My head hurts.” He pointedly presses his eyes shut and crosses his arms.

“Aww, Little Jonny loves me more than hockey,” Patrick teases.

“Not more, just… the same? I don’t know. It’s just…” Jonny opens his eyes meeting Patrick’s. “You are my best friend.”

Something about the way he’s aid that must have been wrong, because Patrick suddenly starts looking suspiciously teary eyed and that’s not what Jonny has meant to do, he just wanted-

“I’m- fuck. Jonny.” Patrick exhales deeply, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m… You deserve a better friend.”

Of all the weird shit Patrick has said today that takes the cake. Jonny just stares at him. Why is Patrick so upset?

“I already got the best,” Jonny tells him. “I got you.”

“Oh, fuck you, Jonny. C’mere.” Patrick pulls him into a hug then, pressing Jonny’s face into his chest, his hand cupping his head, and lips pressed to Jonny’s hair. Jonny melts into him, feeling Patrick’s warmth through the thing T-shirt he’s wearing and Jonny thinks that might be his favourite feeling in the world.

“Why are you sad, Pat?” he whispers, when they’ve both settled to lying down, cuddled close under the covers, with Jonny tugged into Patrick’s side. “I don’t mean to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

Jonny frowns up at him and at least that makes Patrick chuckle somehow. He brushes his thumb over the space between Jonny’s brows down his nose. “That look… sometimes you look at me like that and I feel like you can see under my skin.”

“Is that bad?” Jonny asks, self-consciously averting his eyes.

Patrick takes a while to answer, then: “I don’t know. What if you see something you don’t like?”

“I- What? I don’t know, I don’t-” Jonny glances up at Patrick in confusion. For some reason his heart is hammering in his chest like he’s been playing a particularly hard shift, “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“See, Jonny, you, little you, you like me so much but I-” he pauses, licking his lips, “But I’m just me.” There’s a weird kind of look in his eyes then and for a moment Jonny thinks it might be despair, but then Patrick lets out a laugh, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes again. “God, you are a concussed eleven year old. What am I doing?”

“Dunno,” Jonny mumbles. His tiredness is slowly catching up with him and Patrick’s words make his head swim, “Maybe you should just read me the next chapter? ‘d be nice.”

He can faintly hear the smile in Patrick’s voice. “I think I can do that.”

 

***

 

**_ Jonny is 19 and Patrick is 19 _ **

Jonny comes back after five and a half weeks on IR and while time has felt as slow-moving as the tectonic plate movement during those weeks it seems to speed up impossibly fast once he’s back on the ice. They lose against the Canucks in a shootout in his first game back but manage to scrape wins in each but three of the remaining February games. In March they win more than they lose, but only barely and with only 84 points to show for the chances of them making the playoffs dwindle drastically.

In the end they miss it by three points. Three damn points. Jonny can’t help but feel disappointed even though he hides it behind a stoic face and the monotone of his voice as he tells reporter after reporter how nobody really expected them to make it and how they are in the middle of a rebuild and they are on a good way and how proud he is and how much he trusts in this team and his future there. It’s not even a lie, Jonny is proud and he believes in them, but after telling it for the tenth time it starts sounding a little hollow to him and he’s glad once again that he shares the spotlight with Patrick most of the time, who may be a bit more emotional but also a charmer who’s good with people, so there is that.

“I really thought we’d make it,” Patrick tells him quietly in the locker room in Detroit, the loss of the last game of the season weighing heavy on their shoulders, “I know it’s stupid, but I really thought-”

“Me too.” Jonny admits and Patrick bumps their shoulders, sighing heavily.

“Next season though.” He says, “Next season for sure.”

This marks the 5th consecutive season that Chicago doesn’t make it to the playoffs and that stings, but the fact that it’s also the team’s first winning season in six years lessens it a bit. There’s potential in this team, Jonny knows it. He hasn’t been lying about that but he so desperately wants to prove it too, to Chicago itself and the league, but also maybe a little bit to himself.

“Of course,” he agrees earnestly and he’d leave it at that but because Patrick is giving off sort of gloomy vibes, despite his optimistic smile Jonny pokes him in the stomach causing him to yelp, “Unless we lose you to fast food over the summer. Gotta stick to that diet, Kaner. Even if the trainers aren’t around.”

Patrick gives him a shove. “Fuck you, I’m gonna stick to the diet so hard I’ll put you and your no-fun-allowed nutrition plan to shame, just you wait, Tazer. Imma bulk up. Next thing you know I’m fucking Terminator.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jonny jokes, even though he has in fact seen it and so has Patrick. At some point in time Patrick will in fact manage to put on some muscle mass even if he’s never going to be one of the beefy guys and certainly not Terminator Levels. And honestly, Jonny prefers any version of Patrick over _that_ anyway.

“It’s gonna be a long summer though,” Patrick says after a short pause. He almost sounds wistful. “Gonna be really good not having to see your ugly mug every day.”

“You are going to see me at the Calder ceremony. And the convention,” Jonny points out, grinning slightly at Patrick’s fake groan.

“Damnit. Summer officially ruined. Thank you very much, asshole.”

They look at each other for another few moments.

It _is_ going to be a long summer. Training camp feels so far away from where they are now and even though they still have the whole bus ride back to Chicago with each other and then locker clean out this feels an awful lot like saying good bye, which is strange to say the least. Jonny’s managed quite well, ever since New Year’s to work around those unrequited feelings for Patrick, that emptiness in his chest that starts raising its ugly head every time he’s reminded that this Patrick isn’t his yet, but right this moment, as he’s looking at Patrick with the prospect of months without seeing him ahead of them he feels strangely …relieved. Because maybe a bit of distance will do them well. Maybe it’s what they need, it’s definitely what Jonny needs and that thought fucks him up more than anything. Distance from Patrick, wanting time away from him, it’s utterly foreign in every aspect… Even more so because it’s not that Jonny doesn’t want to be with him anymore, it’s because he does, he does so badly and he’s afraid that maybe Patrick can tell. He’s looking at Jonny now, his blue eyes searching Jonny’s face for something. What, Jonny doesn’t know.

“Don’t be a stranger, eh?” he says, giving Patrick a pat on the back and getting up. Patrick remains seated for a couple of seconds, chewing on his bitten red lip, before standing up as well, rolling his shoulders and flashing Jonny a bright grin.

“Well, I can’t be responsible for you suffering a vital lack of vitamin Kaner, can I?” he wiggles his eyebrows, which has Jonny groan. Patrick is such a tool.

***

 

**_ June 12th 2008, Jonny is 20 and Patrick 19 and Patrick is 35 _ **

“Are you nervous?” Jonny’s mother asks, a soft, well-meaning smile on her face. She’s come to help him iron his suit -or so she has claimed, but Jonny knows as well as she does that it is merely more than an excuse to check up on him for whatever motherly reason. Jonny is perfectly capable of ironing his own clothes, has been doing so for years, a fact she is well aware of, because she taught him. He’s also very much able to transport his clothes without having them getting all wrinkled within one day (unlike some other people Jonny knows). So her true motivation had been utterly transparent from the start and while Jonny is glad she’s apparently finally getting to the point he’s also mildly annoyed that she couldn’t just go there directly, saving them both time and breath. Mot that he would ever say that.

“No, maman,” he answers, “I am not going to win.” So there’s no point in being nervous.

She reaches up, cupping his cheek gently, “You might, chéri. You might.”

Jonny sighs and barely refrains from rolling his eyes but his mother tisks him anyway, “You are leading in goals.” She points out a little condescending, like Jonny doesn’t know that. He knows the stats, his and Patrick’s and Bäckström’s. He knows how each their chances are and he knows that in the end he will come up short. And that’s fine. Jonny’s resigned himself to that when he realized he’d be out for weeks with his knee injury while Patrick continued to play each and every of the 82 regular season games. It’s the only thing consoling his competitive streak a bit, the fact that he is sure if it hadn’t been for his injury he’d be right there at the top, head to head with Patrick, making this day far more nerve wrecking that it has turned out to be as it is.

It also helps that Patrick, in all his competiveness, cockiness, and overconfidence, had conceded in an interview in April that he’s always dreamed of being rookie of the split even before coming to the NHL, that he’d been sure of his ability to reach that goal, but that if Jonny were to win, that would be almost just as good and he wouldn’t mind as much.

Coming from Patrick and his ever present need to be the best and prove his worth that’s a lot and Jonny can recognize it as such.

“I’m behind _both_ of them in points, maman,” he explains calmly. “You don’t need to-” he makes a vague gesture between them, “I don’t need you to- I mean- I’m being realistic, okay?”

Jonny really doesn’t need her to be optimistic or consoling or something along those lines for him. Jonny is fine. It’s been a rough season, physically and mentally, but he’s okay. And what he needs even less than his mother thinking she needs to play emotional support for her son, because he didn’t get to be rookie of the year, is _talking_ to her about it. Not discussing feeling is a longstanding tradition in the Toews household. If Jonny were to describe his relationship with his father it would be quiet companionship, mostly characterized by going fishing together or talking about hockey. His mom takes care of business related stuff for Jonny, functioning more as a mother-agent hybrid than an actual mother which Jonny is insanely thankful for. She’s been an immense asset, helping teenage Jonny finding his way into the world of professional hockey and she still is. But Jonny just isn’t comfortable discussing feelings with her. Or anyone really that isn’t future Patrick, who mostly seems to understand Jonny without him having to spell things out.

It’s not even that he doesn’t trust his mother it’s just something that he doesn’t do, confiding in her. He’s never really missed it either and it doesn’t think it means he loves her any less than other people love their mothers.

“Points aren’t all that matter, Jonathan. You are shaping up to be an exceptional leader and people can see that. The jury can see that. You deserve-”

“ _Maman_.” Jonny grits his teeth a little. He doesn’t know why she can’t let it go, when he clearly isn’t upset about it. Sure, winning the Calder would have been great and Jonny would lie if he said he wasn’t at least a little disappointed, but there is no reason for his mother to be so insistent.

“Oui, chéri?” she asks innocently.

“I’m not in the minors anymore.” Jonny shifts a little.

“Don’t I know it.” His mother chuckles at that, patting his cheek as she finally finally turns to the door of his hotel room, hopefully leaving to give him some privacy before the award ceremony.

He follows her to see her off, because no matter how uncomfortable he is with discussing his feelings with her –even if they are at least somewhat hockey related- she is still his mother and she has raised him to be polite and respectful.

“Alright then.” She leans in so he can give her a kiss on the cheek, “I’ll go and check on your father. He’s been having a bit of a stomach ache earlier today. Will you and Patrick meet up before the ceremony?”

Jonny carefully schools his face into a neutral expression before answering, choosing his words deliberately, “He’s having lunch with his parents.” He hopes she doesn’t notice that he’s not meeting her eyes. Jonny has a lot of practice in lying to his mother, but it’s never gotten any easier over the years.

“Okay, love. We’ll pick you up in an hour. And be ready.” Her eyes twinkle a bit when she eyes him up and down, a meaningful nod towards his shirt and shorts assembly. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Yes, maman,” Jonny chooses to say instead of arguing that he’s an adult who’s been living and managing his life without her for quite a while, but there’s really no point to it and he knows she means well.

“Je t'aime et je suis fière de toi, mon chéri. Que tu gagnes ce soir ou non," his mother says then, just as Jonny’s about to close the door on her.

_I love you and I’m proud of you. Regardless of whether or not you win tonight._

Jonny sighs, “Moi aussi. Merci, maman.” Then he closes the door. The sound of him shutting the door is accompanied by the bathroom door opening, revealing a softly smiling future Patrick, who’s wearing one of Jonny’s spare boxer briefs and nothing else.

“ _Are_ you nervous?” Patrick asks, echoing his mom’s question and taking a few steps forward before tugging Jonny toward him playfully. His eyes are twinkling and he’s wiggling his eyebrows.

Jonny rolls his eyes in response. He’s glad to see that Patrick hasn’t vanished after they had to hastily hide him in the bathroom when Jonny’s mom came knocking to start her whole fussing-over-Jonny-episode.

“Why would I be? We both know I’m not going to win.” Jonny shrugs.

Now it’s Patrick’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Do we?” he says pointedly as he walks past Jonny and plops down on the hotel bed, leaning back on his elbows, legs dangling off the edge “I don’t recall ever talking to you about the Calder trophy.”

“Cut the crap, Pat.” Jonny follows him further into the room, but doesn’t sit down, instead he crosses his arms and gives Patrick a levelled look. “Let’s pretend for a second that you didn’t know the future, would you honestly tell me I will win just looking at the stats objectively? No. And that is fine, because you, my time you, he deserves it. He’s played a phenomenal rookie season. He was- He’s been great. Playing great hockey.”

And he really has been. Jonny can say that without bias and with only the slightest bit of jealousy. If Patrick wins –and Jonny whole-heartedly believes he will- then it’s because he deserves it more than any other rookie in the league. Jonny is sure even those critics who still mumble on about Patrick’s size and shit will have to agree. Patrick himself is downright gleeful about even being nominated even though he’s been telling everyone and their mother’s how he’s known he’d be a contender when he’s been playing midget league. He never outright says it but Jonny can tell how much it bothers him when the media -and be it just Deadspin or some no name people on the internet- down talk him and his play, so the opportunity to counter bullshit like this with a Calder trophy nomination –or better yet the actual trophy- is at least part of the reason why the loss to Patrick doesn’t sting as much as it would to anyone else.

He and Jonny haven’t seen each other since locker clean out in April and then earlier today in the hotel lobby where Patrick had babbled on excitedly about the new car he’s bought and how he wants to move out of the Bowman’s house for the next season and is already in contact with a real estate agent. It’s equally annoying as endearing, Patrick talking like a waterfall, after so many weeks apart and Jonny has enjoyed it more than it had pissed him off that Patrick had barely asked what was going on in Jonny’s life now that the season was over.

“You know, I would have never been as good if it hadn’t been for you. This trophy is as much yours as it’s mine,” Patrick says benignly and Jonny takes a step closer, looking down on him. It’s sort of amazing to have this, Patrick so freely talking about his appreciations of Jonny when present Patrick and Jonny’s compliment are mostly cloaked in layers of chirps and sarcastic insults. It’s how they work and Jonny likes it well enough but sometimes it’s nice to have things said and meant in the same way. “You make him- make _me_ better. In every sense of the word,” Patrick continues. He reaches out, fishing the cross necklace out from underneath Jonny’s shirt, running the pad of his thumb over the metal. “Always have, always will.”

He sounds a little melancholic; older versions seem to do that more often, they got this look in their eyes, it’s not exactly haunted but-

“Where were we? C’mere, baby,” Patrick beckons to him and Jonny follows, straddling Patrick’s lap, placing his knees next to his hips. Before Jonny’s mom had interrupted Jonny had pushed Patrick down on the bed, halfway to taking his shirt off while Patrick had laughed saying something about a Magic Mike that Jonny didn’t quite get, (because who the hell is Mike) but all he had cared about was getting Patrick naked.

Now he cranes his neck looking up at Jonny, blue eyes stormy with something Jonny can’t quite name but it’s gone after a moment because Patrick places his lips onto the bit of collarbone Jonny’s shirt reveals, while his hands rest on his hips barely brushing over bare skin. “…and what do you think, hm? About mini-me. You’ve met him now, it’s been a year. Annoying little bugger, isn’t he? God, to be nineteen again…”

It’s unclear from Patrick’s tone whether or not it’s wistful or the exact opposite, but Jonny doesn’t have an answer either way. How is Patrick, how is it having met him?

It’s… good. Of course it’s good. But it’s also less, less than Jonny thought it would be and he’s still coming to terms with it, having to get to know this Patrick, having him not know Jonny, them both learning how to be close to each other when Jonny has all those feelings locked inside him that Patrick doesn’t know about that Jonny is fairly certain would not be welcome as things are now. And while he’s determined to work for it, while he believes that he can and should, he also has no clue how to approach the whole thing. Getting together with future Patrick had been comparably easy. He fell for him, he told him, Patrick loved him back and that had been it. With present Patrick it’s nowhere near as simple. Future Patrick must know that, so instead of answering Jonny wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck and leans down for a kiss, sloppy and not very gracefully but Patrick kisses back enthusiastically anyway. At least for a moment.

“Jonny,” he says quietly.

Jonny doesn’t open his eyes, just rests his forehead against Patrick’s. Something in the tone of Patrick’s voice makes him feel raw and open and he realizes it’s because Patrick _does_ know. Of course he does. “I’m okay.”

Patrick brings his hands up to cup both sides of Jonny’s face tilting his face a little so they can look at each other properly. His thumb brushes over Jonny’s cheek, then briefly over his slightly parted lips, spreading the wetness that is left from their kiss.

“I know you’ve pictured things differently,” he says, “And I’m sorry I’m disappointing you.”

“It’s-” Jonny begins but cuts himself off. It’s not okay, but it’s not –not okay either. It’s frustrating, that’s what it is. But it is. And there is nothing either of them can say or do about it. “Stop apologizing. I’ve waited fourteen years to meet him. I can wait a little while longer for him to catch up. Besides, I got you in the meantime, don’t I?”

“That you do,” Patrick agrees with a smile that has his dimples pop and Jonny loves that smile so much, loves the way Patrick’s eyes crinkle, the way this face has the beginnings of laughter lines showing, but what he loves more than anything is the way it feels to have Patrick smile into a kiss so that’s what he does, grabbing Patrick’s face and kissing him, wet and open mouthed, in a way that has Patrick tilt his head back, wanting more while his hands move down to cup Jonny’s ass through his pants, splaying his fingers over the fabric and squeezing just as Jonny opens his lips wide enough for Patrick to lick into his mouth. “That you do.” he repeats, then, his voice rough and gravelly, “What do you want, Jonny?”

Jonny blushes and doesn’t say anything. He chooses to put his mouth to Patrick’s neck, giving it a few licks before suckling slightly, not enough to bruise but enough to have Patrick groan, momentarily distracted.

“C’mon,” Patrick presses though and when Jonny leans back to meet his eyes there’s a teasing twinkle in his gaze, “Or are you _nervous_?” he quirks an eyebrow and this time when Jonny moves back in he _bites_ , drawing a hiss and squirm from Patrick, that lies somewhere between enjoyment and pain.

“Jonnyyy,” Patrick hums, moving one hand from its place on Jonny’s ass to catch him by the chin, forcing eye contact, “It’s rude to ignore your elders.”

“Oh fuck off,” Jonny scoffs, but on the second thought, at Patrick looking up at him, lips red from kissing, shiny with spit and eyes slightly hooded and yet alert in a way that has Jonny sure that Patrick doesn’t miss a single thing about Jonny in this moment. “Suck my dick,” he says then blushes, “Please?”

Then he actually wants to die. He’s twenty for god’s sake. Who even does that, who says-

“Aww, Little Jonny,“ Patrick coos, only slightly mocking. “Well, of course I will suck your dick. Gladly. But only because you said _please_.”

“Oh my god,” Jonny says, mortified but he lets Patrick manhandle him around nonetheless, until he’s the one lying flat on his back and Patrick is kneeling between his legs, grinning stupidly. He runs one hand through his hair. It’s pushed back and his hairline a bit further back than Jonny is used to from his present self, but it looks good on him, it suits his face well.

He makes quick work of getting Jonny out of his pants and underwear but slows down then, not touching Jonny’s cock that’s already almost all the way to hard and instead chooses to run his hands over the sensitive skin of Jonny’s inner thighs, brushing his fingertips over the tensing muscles.

“Remember the first time I did this to you,” he muses just as he leans down to press a soft kiss to the junction between Jonny’s hip and thigh, darting his tongue out to lick a wet stripe downwards. “You came after about ten seconds and you were so embarrassed. You _apologized_ to me, you Canadian freak.” He snickers a little then, but not cruelly. Jonny has to concentrate on listening to him because all his blood is rushing south despite Patrick not having touched his dick yet, but the simple prospect of it, of something other than his own hand, mixed with Jonny’s imagination and memory, well, it gets him a long way. Still-

“I was _fifteen_ ,” Jonny defends his past self. It had been the night before Jonny’s sixteenth birthday, but technically he still had been fifteen. Fifteen and so so infatuated with Patrick, unable to grasp why Patrick wouldn’t just go for it if he was so in love with Jonny as he claimed. Fifteen and frustrated and impatient and 800 kilometres away from home with a significantly older time travelling boyfriend who’s been the recurring star in Jonny’s wet dreams for years but refused to do anything more than kissing with Jonny in reality.

“God yes you were,” Patrick shakes his head a little at himself, then blinking up at Jonny, “What was I thinking?”

“What _were_ you thinking?” Jonny asks curiously, “Just-- Tell me?”

Patrick pauses for a moment, abandoning his quest of driving Jonny crazy by placing fluttery kisses all over Jonny’s crotch area but staying deliberately clear of his dick to move up and lean on Jonny’s chest so he can look down on him, body tucked against Jonny’s side, “I was thinking how young you were, how innocent, how much you wanted me anyway and how much I loved you,” he places one hand over Jonny’s heart and Jonny wonders if he can feel how fast it’s beating. “And how precious every second with you were – _is_.” Patrick interrupts himself by kissing Jonny softly and when he continues his voice is low and gravelly, “I was thinking how there were-- are so many things that I can’t give you so, so much beyond my control, but you- that- I could do _that_ and if I’d go to hell for that then so be it.”

“ _Pat_ ,” Jonny breathes, his eyes fluttering shut again as Patrick leans in for another kiss that grows more hungry quickly. He can taste it with every brush of Patrick’s tongue, the ever present underlying urgency, the undeniable existence of a time limit, an ultimatum.

Seconds, minutes, hours, Patrick will leave again, it’s a set point in time that Jonny hates with all his heart.

“I want everything with you,” Patrick says, moving down the bed again, “Every damn second, Jonny. No matter how short. No matter how stolen. No matter how sorry I am. Don’t you ever forget that. Don’t you ever forget how much I love you.”

“Forever?” Jonny asks breathlessly as Patrick situates himself between his legs. He means it as a tease, as light hearted over the top cheesiness to counter act Patrick’s sort of gloomy speech, but Patrick doesn’t play along.

“Till the day I die,” he says and it’s not at all mocking or teasing, just pure sincerity and something about it has Jonny’s skin crawl for a reason he can’t quite define. He misses the teasingness in it, a slight mocking and obviously over the top cheesiness that these words warrant, but Patrick’s eyes are blue and clear and strangely melancholic and Jonny can’t stand it.

“Who’s-” he starts but is cut off by Patrick unceremoniously taking Jonny’s dick in his mouth and sucking, “Who’s the romantic now, uh?”

Patrick glances up at him and –thank god- there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he pulls off with a pop before giving the head a couple of playful licks that have Jonny squirm, “ ’s your fault really.”

 

**_ Jonny is 15 and Patrick is 30 _ **

“Screw you.” Jonny glares at Patrick, covering up the embarrassment and disappointment he feels with anger and accusation. He feels stupid now, yanking his shirt and shorts back on, while Patrick watches from across the room, arms crossed and face pinched into an almost pained expression. He still looks unfairly good, even wearing the same old ratty shirt Jonny’s stolen for him to wear almost ten years ago and a pair of shorts. He also looks immensely uncomfortable and not at all turned on or aroused how Jonny has stupidly imagined it when he’s planned to seduce him.

 _Seduce_. God, Jonny feels so inexplicably ridiculous and ashamed now. Sure Patrick says he love shim, but he barely even kisses Jonny with tongue and almost never touches him, it’s so frustrating and unfair. Jonny gets that loving someone and wanting to fuck them are two different pair of shoes but he just wants Patrick so much and a part of him has just assumed that Patrick loving him back maybe came with an extra side dish of Patrick _wanting_ him too.

“Don’t you want me?” He asks miserably, wrapping his arms around his knees. He’s back home for the two week break and he’s been looking forward to Patrick’s visit for ages, making this plan of his. He’s parents are out, he’s got lube, he’s got nice music, he’s been …practicing. He’s even looked stuff up at the computer in Shattuck’s library which had been embarrassing and stressful since he didn’t want to get caught but he’s done it and he’d been so sure that-

“God, Jonny, no. Of course not,” Patrick says and Jonny wants to die right then and there. It must show on his face because Patrick curses and in an instant he’s at the bed, awkwardly hovering next to Jonny like he wants to comfort him but isn’t sure if he’s allowed to touch. Which is stupid, Jonny has just practically begged Patrick to fuck him a moment ago. They wouldn’t even be having this conversation if Patrick would just _touch_ Jonny.

“Shit, uh,” Patrick scrambles, his voice sounding raspy and unsure, mouth stretched into an apologetic smile that looks more like a grimace. “Jonny, that’s not how I meant it.”

“Then how did you mean it?” Jonny hisses, smacking Patrick’s hand away as he reaches out to touch Jonny’s shoulder. He glares at him, but its force is probably severely diminished by how his lips tremble.

“You are _fifteen_ , Jonny,” Patrick says like that fact is explanation enough, placing a hesitant knee on the bed next to Jonny. When Jonny doesn’t move away he sits down carefully, but remaining mindful of keeping a certain distance between their bodies. Jonny hates it. Everything feels so weird and off-balance. When he was a kid Jonny used to climb all over Patrick and Patrick would hug him and cuddle him and be close to him without a second thought but now that Patrick knows Jonny loves him and supposedly loves Jonny back it’s all so wonky and unfamiliar and _hesitant._

“I know!” he snaps and Patrick all but winces. _Good_ , Jonny thinks. “You won’t let me forget. I hate being fifteen, I fucking hate it. And I hate you.”

To Jonny’s great annoyance Patrick doesn’t argue, instead he simply nods and runs a hand through his hair. There are scratches on his neck where Jonny’s tried to keep him from pulling away when he’s attempted to kiss him there. He didn’t mean to and the second he’d realized he was hurting Patrick Jonny had scrambled backward himself.

“That’s okay. I know shit doesn’t seem fair to you. But-” he pauses licking his lips then looking at Jonny, this time when he reaches out Jonny lets him. He cups Jonny’s jaw gently, his thumb brushing over his hairless chin. Patrick’s face is rough with stumble but Jonny’s is as smooth as it’s always been and Jonny hates that too. “But, Jonny,” Patrick continues, “Wouldn’t it be worrying if I, a thirty year old, wanted you, a fifteen year old? Was turned on by you?”

“But it’s _me_ ,” Jonny argues, “You love me.” he stares at Patrick intensely but the argument doesn’t seem to hold as much weight for Patrick as it does for Jonny. He’s quiet for a moment too long and Jonny finds himself whispering, “You do, right?” suddenly feeling immensely insecure.

Patrick’s eyes go wide. “Fuck, I do, Jonny, of course I fucking love you. You don’t even know how much,” he says quickly and he sounds like he means it. For emphasis maybe he presses a soft kiss to the corner of Jonny’s mouth but when Jonny angles his face trying to chase after that sliver of tongue he’s felt, Patrick pulls back, sighing quietly. “Kid, we are already treading on very shaky morally grey ground when I do as much as kiss you.”

“I don’t care for moral grounds,” Jonny snaps and before Patrick can move further away Jonny kisses him again, crushing their lips together and for a few blissful seconds Patrick kisses back, before he catches himself, pushing Jonny away with his hands on his chest.

“Of course you don’t,” he groans, “I was fifteen once too, you know? I get it.”

Jonny grits his teeth. He’s already made a fool out of himself today. Well, in for a penny-

“Did you also want a guy twice your age to come on your face?”

Patrick lets out a noise that’s somewhere between strangled laugh and choked out moan as he buries his face in his hands. “Jesus, Jonny.”

Something about it makes Jonny feel determined. He climbs in Patrick’s lap, tugging on his wrists until Patrick looks at him. They are on eyelevel now, but soon they won’t be anymore. Jonny’s hitting growth spurt after growth spurt and Patrick has let slip that Jonny will be more than just a few centimetres taller than Patrick in the future.

“Patrick, please,” Jonny says, lacing his arms around Patrick’s neck to kiss him. Patrick drops his arms and while Jonny would like them better wrapped round his body, _touching_ him, he can settle for Patrick not pushing him away for the moment. “Everyone else is doing it.”

That has Patrick pulling back, if not by much. He looks at Jonny’s face searchingly, frowning a little bit even though his voice sounds a tiny bit teasing, “Doing what? Chasing after guys way too old for them?”

Jonny glowers at him.

Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Having sex?”

“I’m the only one of my friends who hasn’t done it yet,” Jonny complains and Patrick’s expression softens. On anyone else’s face Jonny might mistake it for pity but Patrick just looks understanding and maybe a tiny bit amused but not maliciously.

“Oh jeez. Okay, hop off, baby. I got some ‘twice your age’ wisdom for you,” he orders, poking Jonny’s side until he complies. He then shifts so he’s sitting crossed legged in front of Jonny, allowing them to look each other in the eyes.

“What?” Jonny asks.

“You’re the only one of your friends not having sex?” Patrick shakes his head, “Bull-fucking-shit. Your friends are also fifteen, Jonny, and believe me half of them haven’t even had the guts to jerk off to actual porn yet that they didn’t steal from their dad or older brother let alone do something with another person. Trust me.”

“Chris said that Nina from French class blew him in the locker room after last week’s game,” Jonny feels compelled to point out. “She even let him finger her after. And Scott has fucked his cousin’s best friend at her birthday party when he was thirteen. And Joël told us-”

“Jonny stop,” Patrick interjects, placing a hand on Jonny’s knee, “Even if all that were true –and I’m telling you it isn’t- your friends- and all your friends are outright premature porn stars fucking their way through all the butts and vaginas of North America, that doesn’t mean shit for you, okay?” He gives Jonny a serious look, “Just because everyone else is doing something, be it sex or whatever, doesn’t mean you have to do it too. If you feel ready and comfortable and you want to, that’s great and you should go for it. But don’t do it because you feel like you _should_ , okay?”

“I _am_ ready. And I want _you_ ,” Jonny pretty much whines but the look Patrick gives him doesn’t allow for much hope that Jonny will be able to change his mind today or any time soon and while Jonny’s never been one to back down from a challenge he’d lie if he said it wasn’t disheartening to be repeatedly shot down by the person you are crushing on.

“Well, maybe _I_ am not ready to fuck a fifteen year old, how’s that? Maybe I’m not comfortable with that,” Patrick points out, sort of smugly –the bastard. “This shit goes two ways, Jonny-boy.”

Along with the amusement and empathy there’s also a finality to Patrick’s tone so Jonny just sighs, rolling onto his belly and burying his face in his pillow so he doesn’t have to look at Patrick and his stupidly attractive face, with his bright eyes and full lips, and sharp cut jaw for any longer. Patrick lets him get away with it for approximately half a minute before he starts tugging at the back of Jonny’s shirt.

“What?” Jonny grumbles, sitting back up and glaring at Patrick.

“Don’t sulk.”

Jonny contemplates hitting Patrick over the head with a pillow but figures that doesn’t exactly serve his point of being a grown up, so he opts for a bit more glaring. “You’ve made your point. You don’t want to—with me. So- I’m allowed to sulk. You don’t- Screw you, okay? You don’t get to-” Jonny gestures widely, not entirely sure himself what point he’s trying to make. “So whatever. Leave me alone.”

“Well, I was going to ask if maybe you still wanted to kiss some more, even if that doesn’t lead to someone’s ass getting fucked, but sure, if you’d rather sulk, suit yourself.” Patrick shrugs and sits back a little, eyes flashing with an unspoken challenge.

Jonny bites his lip. Patrick raises his eyebrows.

God, Jonny hates him so much.

“I want to kiss some more,” he admits somewhat defiantly. Then he adds, pushing his jaw forward: “But with tongue.”

“Mhhhh,” Patrick makes a show out of tilting his head left and right like he’s weighing his options but his lips are already stretched into a smile, before he says, “Yeah, okay.” And beckons Jonny closer. “With tongue, you little monster. But nothing more. Close your eyes.”

Despite his agreement Patrick starts the kiss impossibly gently, cupping Jonny’s jaw carefully, the brush of his rough and yet soft hands seemingly igniting every last nerve ending under Jonny’s skin where he’s being touched. It’s so maddeningly innocent and yet Jonny can barely breathe from the way Patrick is looking at him when Jonny blinks his eyes open, gaze full of wonder -like he too can’t believe he’s getting to do this- and also affection and kindness and ultimate tenderness. Patrick’s eyes crinkle as he smiles softly upon finding Jonny looking back at him and Jonny can feel his chuckle on his skin as he leans in nudging Jonny’s cheek with his nose playfully. It’s only for a moment then he lets his lips ghost over Jonny’s cheek and Jonny shivers, fingers curling into fists where he’s holding onto the front of Patrick’s shirt. He lets out a shaky breath and lets his eyes flutter shut again.

“This is good too, right?” Patrick murmurs softly and Jonny fights to keep himself from nodding. It is good, it’s great, just this, just barely kissing, it’s already so great and he gets that Patrick is sort of trying to prove a point and make Jonny feel better about them not having sex right away but Jonny’s just-

“Jon,” Patrick breathes and he sounds- Jonny doesn’t know how he sounds, can’t place it, all he knows is that it pulls a whimper from him that gets muted by Patrick’s lips finally touching his, just as Jonny tilts his chin up the tiniest bit. It’s almost like Patrick doesn’t miss a single twitch, not the slightest movement of Jonny’s body. Every little reaction is _his_.

“’s good,” he whispers, his breath tickling Jonny’s face, “It’s good for me too. Always. Kissing you. The best thing in the fucking world.”

When Jonny blinks his eyes open, Patrick’s are closed and his lips are slightly parted, a pink, wet sliver of tongue visible. It reminds Jonny that this is not what he negotiated for, chaste closed mouthed kissing, as great as Patrick makes even that feel, Jonny has been promised more. So he takes it. Jonny leans in, grabs Patrick’s face and presses their lips together without much finesse but it seems to get the point across because Patrick laughs and places one hand at the nape of Jonny’s neck so he can keep him in place as he licks over Jonny’s bottom lip only to start nibbling at it a second later when Jonny doesn’t immediately open up. It feels unfairly good so when Jonny parts his lips to let Patrick’s tongue in, a little moan escaping alongside.

Patrick’s hand slips up into Jonny’s hair at that and when Jonny pushes his tongue into his mouth his grip tightens, sending a shiver of sparkles down Jonny’s spine. He shifts a little as Patrick kisses back, sliding their tongues together, while Jonny fights and loses to the urge of slipping his hand under Patrick’s shirt. He doesn’t get much further than Patrick’s abs, excitement prickling under his skin as his finger brush over the toned muscles.

“Jonny.” Patrick warns, deploying one hand to remove Jonny’s from underneath his shirt and planting it firmly on Jonny’s own thigh all while barely breaking the kiss. Jonny whines in protest but obediently curls his hands into fists in his own lap. How Patrick expects him to keep behaving when he starts using his teeth on Jonny’s lip, causing him to gasp and shift and chase after his lips like he’s starving for them, is beyond Jonny.

“Jonny,” he repeats and he doesn’t sound exactly mad but nonetheless stern. Jonny blinks his eyes open to find his hand wrapped around Patrick’s wrist, tugging at it. He’s halfway to having pushed Patrick’s hand to his crotch and god, that thought, being able to grind up into Patrick’s palm, getting some relief on that aching hardness, maybe, if he asks again, maybe if he promises to- maybe if he- maybe-

“I’m not-” Jonny lets go of Patrick’s wrists jerkily. “I’m- Sorry?” He’s blushing furiously and Patrick’s eyes are on him, unwaveringly so, but it doesn’t keep Jonny from having to reach down, adjusting himself in his shorts. To his frustration Patrick keeps his eyes firmly trained on Jonny’s face.

“We had a deal, Jonny.”

“I know. I am- I’m being good!” It doesn’t sound very convincing and Patrick doesn’t dignify Jonny’s lie with more than an eyebrow raise. When Jonny surges forward to get his mouth on Patrick’s again, Patrick stops him with a hand to the chest once again.

“Can you behave?” he asks, “Can you promise me to behave?”

 _Yes,_ Jonny wants to scream. _Yes, yes_ , because if yes gets Patrick back to kissing him Jonny will get yes tattooed on his forehead, but at the same time –and Jonny hates to admit that, even begrudgingly- it would be a complete and utter lie.

Patrick must be able to tell by the look on Jonny’s face because his expression softens and he runs his hands down Jonny’s arms to his hands, taking them in his and gently rubbing his thumbs over Jonny’s palms, “Okay, baby. We can stop. It’s okay.”

Jonny shakes his head frantically. “No, I want to-”

“Then sit on your hands,” Patrick says. His tone is soft and suggestive but Jonny knows that if he wants to keep kissing Patrick right now he’s got no choice but to say yes, so he does, slipping his hands underneath his thighs and true to his words -only moments later- Patrick reunites their lips for a kiss.

The problem is that being unable to touch Patrick, even if he wanted to, even if it were just to cradle his jaw or steady himself on his shoulders, it seems to make everything even more intense for Jonny, every drag of tongue, every soft bite of teeth. Before Jonny knows it he’s panting and his skin is hot with the need to get closer, to be touched and all he can think about is how the way Patrick’s thumb is rubbing the nape of Jonny’s neck would feel against his dick. His dick, that is hard and leaking and entirely ignored between his legs. Patrick would be good at it, Jonny is sure. He’d know exactly where to touch Jonny, how much pressure he likes and needs. He’d maybe play with Jonny’s foreskin a bit, just like Jonny does when he’s taking his time jerking off. He’d know how to make it good for Jonny, he’d know, he’d kiss him through it, he’d maybe even use both hands, he’d-

“ _Pat_ ,” Jonny whines helplessly, horrified at how wrecked his own voice sounds, how hard this whole thing is hitting him. It’s just kissing after all but Jonny feels ready to burst and yet it feels so far away and it’s frustrating beyond compare to have Patrick’s lips on his but not being allowed more. It’s so unfair, Jonny’s scared that the next whine will be much closer to a sob. Instead he chases after Patricks lips as he tries to pull away a little, not ready to allow any sort of distance between them if this is all Jonny’s going to get.

“Pat, please,” he whimpers, feeling his cock twitch in his pants. It’s almost painful, but Jonny’s not allowed to touch, he’s not allowed to move. His fingers are digging in the underside of his thighs and he repeats it, frantically, unsure what he’s even asking for, “Please, please.”

“No, Jonny,” Patrick says and Jonny’s eyes fly open because Patrick sounds a little bit wrecked himself. His pupils are blown wide and his lips red from where Jonny’s been biting him and there’s even a faint blush on his pale skin, but his jaw is set tightly, determined.

“Patrick,” he says hoarsely, letting his forehead fall against Patrick’s shoulder, pressing his eyes shut and just breathing in Patrick’s scent for a moment before he’s ready to look at him again. “I’m _so_ hard.”

Jonny doesn’t really mean to say it, it just slips out breathlessly and he squeezing his eyes shut a second after but not fast enough to miss the way Patrick’s gaze flickers down to where Jonny’s undoubtedly tenting his shorts.

“Ah fuck,” Patrick mumbles through his teeth, then louder and more clearer, “Okay, okay fine. Just- Do it. Go ahead.”

Jonny’s eyes snap open and he stares at him. Patrick’s expression is somewhere between unreadable and compunctious as he gestures towards Jonny’s lap.

“Can you-” Patrick shakes his head before Jonny can even finish his question.

“No. Now c’mere.” He pulls Jonny in some sort of sideway hug that allows Jonny to settle against Patrick’s chest who’s leaning back into the pillows of Jonny’s bed. If Jonny tilts his head slightly upwards and Patrick leans down and a bit sideways they can kiss like this and they do somewhere between softly and desperately, all while Patrick leads Jonny’s own hand between his legs, a wordless go-ahead to his former verbal one. Still, Jonny hesitates a moment before he’s brave enough to tug the waistband of his shorts down. It’s difficult doing it one handedly, but Jonny’s not ready to let go of Patrick’s shirt with his other one so Patrick has to use the hand he cradled Jonny’s jaw with to help pulling Jonny’s shorts down to mid-thigh.

It’s the first time Jonny’s ever had someone see him naked in this kind of context and it makes him hot all over even though Patrick is much too busy distracting Jonny with the wet drag of his mouth against Jonny’s to pay much attention to Jonny’s naked erection. Jonny has to break the kiss though when he wraps his hand around himself, giving his cock the first experimental stroke and finding himself way more sensitive then he’s used to. It might be because of Patrick’s presence but granted, Jonny usually doesn’t spend this much time riling himself up before he finally goes for it so it is probably a mixture of both.

“Oh,” he says brokenly, feeling Patrick press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“You are good, Jonny.” he mumbles, “So good, baby.”

Jonny can’t do much more than let out a shaky breath while tightening his fist around his dick, giving himself a couple of tugs that have him buck up, chasing the tightness of his own hand.

“’s right. Just like that,” Patrick continues, softly kissing the corner of Jonny’s mouth while his hand resting on Jonny’s arm, tightens just the slightest bit, “Use- Use your precome. Spread it over your-” Jonny does and it instantly gets easier to move his hand, the movement slicker and Patrick must be able to tell by the hitch in Jonny’s breath or maybe the shudder that goes through his body. Patrick wouldn’t be able to miss that with the way that Jonny is pressed against him.

“Pat,” Jonny murmurs nonsensically, mouthing at the bit of exposed collarbone he can reach without shifting their position too much. By some miracle Patrick lets him, doesn’t even comment on it, instead he says –and suddenly the hand that isn’t around Jonny’s shoulders is on Jonny’s thigh. Not moving up or anything, just a steady hot presence over Jonny’s shorts. If he only shifted it up a centimetre there would be bare skin under Patrick’s fingers and Jonny would-

“Maybe some lube, hm?” Patrick suggests, his breath hot against Jonny’s skin. “Get yourself nice and slick. Makes it better, Taze. You got some-” Jonny blinks his eyes open when Patrick’s hand leaves his thigh and he cuts off mid-sentence to find Patrick twisting himself so he can search underneath Jonny’s pillow without letting go of Jonny entirely. “Boy scout,” he comments and Jonny blushes a bit. He put that lube there as part of his plan and he doesn’t remember telling Patrick about it but his brain is hazy with arousal so he isn’t really trusting his memory right now. His entire attention narrows on Patrick nudging the bottle of lube against Jonny’s hand and when he opens it he squeezes some directly into Jonny’s palm.

Jonny’s never used lube to jerk off. The first time he’s used lube all together has been a couple of weeks ago when he’s tried fingering himself for the first time. It has never seemed necessary for- well. But Patrick is right, he is so right, because it’s so good, wrapping his hand around his hard cock with his palm slick with lube that makes the drag so much better and smoother and Jonny can’t help but throw his head back and moan.

Patrick catches his chin with one hand and brings their lips together for another kiss while Jonny keeps jerking himself, so the kiss- at least from Jonny’s side- is mostly an uncoordinated mess of tongue and lips and breathy whines but there’s not much room in Jonny’s mind to feel too embarrassed about it.

“Play with your balls, baby,” Patrick onstructs, his lips grazing over Jonny’s ear, voice low and raspy, “Take them- Yeah, like that. Feels good doesn’t it? Roll them a bit and-”

It’s some sort of revelation to Jonny. He doesn’t really know why but somehow in his entire sexual history of jerking off he’s never actually gotten the idea to do much of anything with his balls, but as he follows Patrick’s instructions he finds himself questioning how the hell he’s been missing out on something that feels this good for years, but only for a split second because in the next Jonny’s coming all over his own hand and Patrick’s shirt. Patrick holds him through it, face pressed into Jonny’s hair, murmuring sweet nothings while his fingers are dug almost painfully in Jonny’s shoulder and arm.

“Patrick,” Jonny whimpers, shivering as his cock gives one last weak spurt before lying limp against Jonny’s thigh.

Jonny feels completely and utterly exhausted and it seems to take half an eternity until his breathing returns to normal and he can even think about tugging his shorts back up. Patrick remains suspiciously unmoving, something Jonny only notices when he squirms a bit in his hold so he can reach the tissues on his nightstand and clean himself up as well as possible without getting up and going to the bathroom.

For a moment Jonny fears that Patrick might be mad at him. He technically hasn’t made Patrick touch him and he hasn’t really touched Patrick either but what they’ve just done still may-

Patrick clears his throat. Jonny frowns.

“Pat?” he asks, slowly, wiggling a bit in Patrick’s embrace as he’s craning his neck to look up at him. Patrick is pointedly staring at the wall opposite of Jonny’s bed and there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.

Jonny wiggles some more.

Patrick grits his teeth.

Patrick clenches his jaw.

Patrick keeps flexing his fingers, suddenly seeming extremely uncomfortable.

Because Patrick is _hard._

There, right there, pressed against Jonny, only a few thin layers of clothes between them, is Patrick’s dick. Patrick’s hard dick. Hard for Jonny.

_Oh._

“Pat,” Jonny repeats.

Patrick shakes his head. “Just- It’ll… It’ll go away. Just don’t-”

“I could-”

“No.”

“But-” Jonny starts but Patrick keeps shaking his head and to Jonny’s disapproval he also untangles himself from Jonny getting as much distance between them as possible on the bed. Jonny mourns the loss of contact but at the same time this opens up the whole new opportunity of getting a look at Patrick’s crotch and the outline of his obvious hard-on. Which is kind of great.

“ _No_ means end of discussion not ‘let’s fucking negotiate’, Jonathan,” Patrick says, voice rough and just a bit raspier than usually. It makes Jonny shiver and he thinks if he hadn’t just come he might be getting hard again from Patrick’s voice alone. His words not so much, because apparently Patrick _still_ doesn’t want Jonny to touch him even though at least one part of him seems very much on board with that idea.

“Yeah, but-” Jonny bites his lip reaching out but Patrick catches his wrist halfway.

“Jonny, enough,” Patrick says calmly but firmly “I may be older and stronger than you but I’ve still got the right to say no and you _have_ to respect that. Period.”

A part of Jonny wants to argue. He wants to yell at Patrick and tell him how stupid this is, that it doesn’t make sense that Patrick won’t let them do anything when Jonny obviously wants him and when Patrick has some sort of interest too. Sure, Jonny is younger and yes it may be morally ambiguous to say the least but it’s _them_. It’s he and Patrick and they are in love but-

But Patrick is saying no. And that’s-

Patrick is right no matter what Patrick’s dick is doing or what Jonny thinks if Patrick says no then that’s final.

“Fine,” Jonny mumbles, shrugging in an attempt to feign nonchalance. “You could jerk off though. Like if you- I wouldn’t mind.”

A glance in Patrick’s direction tells him that even that suggestion isn’t well received. In fact Patrick sighs, rubbing his face for a moment. Then he gets up standing a few feet away from Jonny’s bed and taking a couple of deep breaths. “No, I’m good. Thanks,” he says. “Really, I’ll just-” He stands there for a moment looking a bit lost before getting down on the floor starting to do honest to god sit-ups.

Jonny just stares at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Jonny watches Patrick for a couple of moments, the tension in his jaw and bristling breath that is going just a little bit too fast for the number of sit-ups Patrick has done so far. It’s kind of ridiculous and so so not necessary, not when Jonny is literally offering-

"N'importe quoi," Jonny says. "Tu peux juste coucher avec moi. Je suis _juste là_. Juste… baise moi."

Patrick halts in his movements long enough to throw Jonny a pointedly saturnine look. “Jonny.”

“What?” Jonny narrows his eyes.

Patrick is having none of it. “You know what.”

“What the hell, Patrick. So do you or do you not speak French?” Jonny asks, because he thinks he’s got a right to know. He’s always figured saying shit to Patrick in French was moderately safe because he has never seemed to understand anything except that one time when Jonny had been fourteen and asked him about that hickey. He’d picked up on the word for kiss then and now-

“I don’t _speak_ French.” Patrick cuts in quickly. “I promise you. All I can say is fromage, J'ai une grosse bite and je t'aime. But I, uh-” he pauses and licks his lips before glancing back at Jonny, “Look, future you isn’t really good at dirty talk in English. Or at least you don’t really like doing it. But…sometimes you do like to do it in, well, French. So I’ve picked up on a couple of words. And… phrases.”

For a few moments Jonny just stares at him, feeling the beginning of a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

“So…dirty talk in French, huh?” he says slowly.

Patrick gives him a look, “Jonny, no.”

“Prends-moi par derrière et fais-moi jouir, Patrick.”

“God, you are killing me.” Patrick’s head falls back against the floor with a dull thud. He covers his eyes with his arms.

“But I’m not killing your boner,” Jonny says with a smirk, he’s peeking off the edge of his bed to meet Patrick’s glare and catch a glimpse of Patrick’s erection that hasn’t gone down much so far.

“That’s what I get for being a responsible adult.”

“Feel free not to,” Jonny points out even though he’s accepted by now that Patrick will stick with his now and it’s not like Jonny will be able to get it up again for at least maybe fifteen minutes. “Any time.”

“Ask me again in a couple of months.” Patrick mumbles, not opening his eyes.

_What._

Jonny gapes at him and when Patrick doesn’t continue Jonny gets up and nudges Patrick’s foot.

Patrick slits one eye open, but remains otherwise unmoving. He’s apparently given up on the sit-ups and has chosen to try to will his erection out of existence with sheer mind over matter power or whatever. “The age of consent in Manitoba is sixteen.”

“Does that mean-”

“It means the age of consent in Manitoba is sixteen.” Patrick says, “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Yeah, but how is that relevant?” Jonny feels compelled to ask. Sure he gets the general idea and importance of the law but it’s not like Patrick and him are a normal couple. “Like, I’m not going to report you?”

“That’s not the point- Jesus, it’s about you being a _child._ Do you even realize what-” Patrick sits up running both hands through his hair before turning to meet Jonny’s eyes, “Fucking hell, Jonny. I can’t win with you can I?”

And just like that Jonny doesn’t feel teasing and defying anymore. He just feels dumb. “No. You _always_ win.” He says quietly. “Every time you disappear you get to go back to future me. But I’m here all alone. Without _any_ you. I never win. I’m always-”

“Jonny-” Patrick tries to interrupt him, but Jonny doesn’t let him.

“No, Patrick, _you_ win.” He says and Patrick doesn’t say anything.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. Please let me know what you think
> 
> (Also go Leafs go! Game 7 tonight. We can do it <3)


	10. Chapter 10

**_ June 12th 2008, Jonny is 20 and Patrick 19 and Patrick is 35 _ **

Patrick disappears only moments after he helps Jonny tying his bowtie. Although helping might be a bit of a stretch since Patrick –it turns out- has no clue how to tie a bowtie. But Jonny bats his hands away only half-heartedly, because Patrick fuzzing over him and getting involved in the process of getting ready is quite endearing if he’s being honest. A tiny bit annoying too, but mostly endearing. Cute even. Which is a strange thought maybe, calling thirty-five year old Patrick cute.

Even though Jonny is as always sad about Patrick leaving and their time once again being cut short, it’s different this time.

This time it proves to be well timed since only moments later there’s a knock on Jonny’s door and it’s not his parents as he’s expected but Patrick –present Patrick- grinning widely at Jonny before shouldering past him and dropping back first onto Jonny’s bed, suit and shoes and all. He’s still grinning when Jonny crosses his arms and scowls at him.

“You are going to wrinkle your suit, idiot.” He says, less as a chirp but as a way to distract his own brain from the very invasive thought of how Patrick has sucked Jonny off on this very bed not even an hour ago. How he’s let Jonny come in his mouth and how a little bit has dribbled out nevertheless and Jonny has kissed it off his face, tasting himself. He can’t think about things like that, not when present Patrick is grinning at him so goofily and unsuspecting.

Patrick waves his hand. “Whatever, dude. I look high class and you know it.”

“You don’t have a mirror in your room, eh? Tragic.” Jonny says and gracefully dodges Patrick’s half-hearted attempt at kicking him without having to get up.

“You don’t have eyes, _eh?_ ” Patrick counters weakly, “Fucking Canadians, I swear. Also, my mom picked this suit so I know it looks good, so fuck you.”

“Well, thank god for your mom then. Your game day suits are enough of an eyesore.”

“Haters gonna hate.” Patrick says confidently and Jonny just rolls his eyes. It’s not that Patrick’s game day suits are bad per se, some are actually pretty nice, but Patrick seems to have some sort aversion to buying clothes that are actually his size. He’d get a long way by simple buying his shit a couple of sizes smaller but apparently his ego forbids that.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Jonny asks, “Weren’t you having lunch with your family?”

“Oh, yeah, but I had to get changed into my suit and I thought I’d swing by, see how ready you are to witness me being crowned rookie of the year.” He grins a little douchey and wiggles his eyebrows, but there’s a weird undertone to it.

“I’m terrific thanks for asking.” Jonny says flatly. He wishes people would stop asking him that. “Now get your lazy ass off my bed, loser. My mom’s gonna be here any-”

Coincidentally Jonny’s mother chooses that exact moment to actually knock on the door. Patrick’s grin widens with glee and he hops off the bed to make a dash for the door and yank it open before Jonny even has the chance to do so himself.

“Mrs. Toews!” Patrick greets her extending his hand and probably charming her pants off with that smile of his. Figuratively speaking of course. Or so Jonny hopes.

“Patrick,” Jonny’s mom says, her eyes twinkling, “I’ve told you to call me Andree.”

Patrick has only met her a handful of times but right from the beginning he’s hit it off with her, which is sort of confusing since she’s a smart fucking lady and Patrick is kind of a douche ninety percent of the time –even Jonny realizes that- but he’s apparently really great with parents. Not so much with Jonny’s dad but the two haven’t met as often yet anyway.

What messes with Jonny’s head even more is seeing Patrick leaning in the doorway to Jonny’s hotel room happily chatting away with his mom while barely an hour ago Jonny has had to hastily hide another Patrick in the bathroom precisely so his mom _wouldn’t_ see him. It’s a bit of a mindfuck.

For a moment Jonny allows himself to imagine it, his mom and dad getting to know Jonny’s Patrick –his boyfriend-, talking with him, getting to know him, seeing how happy he makes Jonny.

As strange as it sounds, Jonny is not entirely sure if he likes the idea. He is self-aware enough though to admit that part of that hesitance stems from his aversion to open up and also the fact that there’s something in his memory ringing when he thinks about Patrick and his family, something about him mentioning that Jonny’s dad doesn’t like him, not at first at least, just after five years old Jonny has informed him about his father having a rifle. It’s a weird thing to be torn up about, the hypothetical future meeting of your boyfriend with your parents and the unwillingness to reveal too much colliding with the wish for his parents to like Patrick. Not just as Jonny’s friend and teammate but more. As a part of their family.

He thinks about it all the way through the award ceremony until it’s finally time for the Calder Trophy winner to be announced.

He’s startled a bit by his mother putting her hand on his where he’s balled it into a fist on his thigh, something he’s only noticing now as she flattens his palm, stroking his fingers lightly until he can feel a bit of the tension bleed out. He hasn’t been lying, he’s fine with it, with Patrick winning. He’s happy for him, he really is but he can’t help the tiny sting of jealousy needling his stomach as Patrick’s name is called and the crowd applauds.

Jonny does too and he does so with a smile. It freezes a little with surprise though when Patrick instead of making a beeline for the stage where his trophy is waiting for him, unexpectedly decides to make a detour to Jonny, cameras following him on every step.

It’s barely even a moment, Jonny getting up and Patrick reaching out and pulling Jonny in a one-armed bro hug with shoulder patting while muttering a quick “Couldn’t have done it without you.” at the same time that Jonny says “Congrats man. You’ve earned it.”

He walks on stage then, accepts the award with a confident smile like he never even doubted he’d be the one taking it home. Jonny just stares at him from his spot in the crowd, the easy grace and yet goofiness in his demeanour and all he can think about is both versions of Patrick that he’s met today telling him how Jonny is part of this achievement too, how Patrick couldn’t have done it without Jonny. Sure, future Patrick has gone more into detail, has let more emotions bleed into his words, but in essence it’s an overlap. It’s proof that what Patrick is saying now stills stands true years later for future Patrick to tell it to Jonny. It shouldn’t come as such a surprise and in a way it doesn’t, but it kind of hits Jonny that Patrick is Patrick, all the moments he’s experiencing with present Patrick, they are already memories of the Patricks that visit Jonny. They are his history. They are a part of him.

The good and the bad.

 

***

 

**_ Summer 2007, Jonny is 20 and Patrick is 19 _ **

Jonny’s been spending a lot of time after the Awards with his old friends back from Winnipeg, playing street hockey with them or just working out. His parents enjoy having him back home and try to integrate him as much as possible in their life which always takes some time since he isn’t for most of the year which becomes painfully obvious in some moments, but Jonny tries to enjoy it. He does like spending time with them. Going hiking with David and his dad or going to the movies with his mom is nice and Jonny knows that soon enough the summer will be over and he will return to Chicago for training camp.

There’s one day that Jonny fakes a stomach flu so he can get out of a family trip to some extended family in Quebec, because a future Patrick shows up and once Jonny’s family has left without him the two of them drive out to one of the more remote lakes of the area and spend the day at its shore, swimming and making out.

It’s a great day, maybe the greatest day of the summer so far. At the end of it Jonny’s leaning against the kitchen counter listening to Patrick who’s standing over the stove gesticulating animatedly with a spatula while he tells a story about how he and his sisters always used to play dress up with each other when they were kids and one time they dressed Patrick up as a princess and a picture of that still hangs on his parents fridge (‘princess Patrick and the three brave knights Erica, Jackie and Jessy’) and he can’t stop smiling., unable to bring himself to regret ditching his family for this. Patrick looks so happy and relaxed, hair unruly with curls with still a bit of wetness clinging to it from the lake. His skin is slightly reddened from the sun, but he still lets Jonny run his hands all over it, hums appreciatively when Jonny interrupts him with kisses.

But in the end, it happens what always happens eventually. Jonny turns around to fish a beer for Patrick out of the fridge when there’s a clattering sound and in Patrick’s place there’s just empty space, the spatula lying on the floor along with his clothes. And just like that Jonny is alone. Alone with a half-cooked dinner in an empty house, with neither Patrick nor his family.

It doesn’t come as a surprise and yet it kills all the euphoria from that day, leaving Jonny feeling kind of down, listlessly moping around the house for the rest of the evening until he deems it an appropriate time to go to bed, putting on the shirt that Patrick wore all day and left behind in the kitchen when he disappeared. It’s not much, but it’s something.

A couple of days later Jonny’s family returns and his mother fusses over him making sure that he’s really feeling well again. He suspects she can sense that Jonny isn’t really feeling well, because it gets to the point that Jonny’s father tells her to lay off and David casually-not-so-casually asks him when they play CoD that night what has him in such a slump.

“Nothing.” He tells him, because there quite literally is nothing. Nothing new anyway. Jonny is just feeling a little mopey at the moment that’s all.

David shrugs, but Jonny can feel him side-eyeing him for the rest of their game so when the round is finished Jonny puts down his controller and turns to face his brother.

“What is it?” he prompts crossing his arms.

“You lied to maman and papa.” David says, never having been one to beat around the bush. “You didn’t have stomach flu.”

For a moment Jonny feels cold and he’s already scrambling for an excuse in his head but David is looking at him with a certainty that doesn’t leave room for any objections. “I did.” he says. “You gonna tell them?”

“No.”

“Good.”

They are both quiet for a moment then David continues: “Deidre saw you taking the car and driving off. With a guy. She also saw you come back hours later. With a guy.”

Fuck. He’s thought they’d been careful. Patrick had worn sunglasses and a base cap until they’d been way out of town and Jonny could have sworn none of the neighbors had been around when he and Patrick had taken the car. It makes him feel a little sick to think they’ve been watched.

“Why are you talking to Deidre about me?” Jonny asks as calmly as he can manage. It’s not so bad, he tries to tell himself. All she saw was him with a guy. _A guy_. Not Patrick Kane, rookie superstar and Jonny’s teammate. And Patrick and him, they didn’t kiss or do anything too couply while in the city, they aren’t stupid. It still feels a little invasive though, to think about how he’s been watched, how someone has taken the time out of their day to observe when Jonny has left the house and with what company and when he’d returned. He should be used to it and he is, back in Chicago but somehow it feels different here in his childhood home. Especially now that his little brother is confronting him about it.

“Not the point, bro.” David brushes him off, “Why did you lie to maman and papa so you could hang out with… with some guy? What’s the deal there? Are you gay?”

Jonny closes his eyes, taking a moment to brace himself, “Did Deidre see that too? Me being gay with ‘some guy’?” He’s sure she can’t have seen anything. She can’t. Unless she was at the lake and they’d been the only ones there, Jonny knows that. He’s sure. He’s-

“Nah,” David says and Jonny releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “But why else would you lie and sneak around to keep it a secret? Whatever you guys were up to. And you’ve been kind of mopey ever since. So I figured…”

“I’m not gay.” Jonny says and David shrugs.

“It’s not like I care, dude. It’s your life and your career you are jeopardizing.”

“Right.”

They both fall silent again, but just as Jonny’s about to start the game back up, David clears his throat and when Jonny turns to look at him his brother is actually blushing and that- ok. Jonny isn’t sure what to make of that.

“It’s just… like… uh, I’m your brother. So you can… talk. To me. Like, if you… yeah.”

Jonny just stares at him, “Uhm.” David and him, they don’t do this, they don’t really talk about …feelings or stuff like that. Jonny does appreciate the offer though, especially since it seems to be incredibly awkward for David to even make it. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s…” Jonny says, slowly, rubbing his neck. He somehow feels obligated to give David at least something. To show him his trust or something. It’s- god, it’s weird. Jonny is spectacularly bad at this. “There’s a guy.” He finishes lamely. That’s all he can say, really.

David tilts his head. “So you are-”

“No.” he cuts in quickly. “I’m… bi. I think. It’s- it doesn’t matter. There is a guy though. So.”

“Cool.” David nods, “Cool, cool, cool. Cool. A boyfriend-guy… or?”

_Yes,_ Jonny thinks. “It’s complicated.” He says.

David just snorts at that. “I’ve been seeing this girl. She’s my team captain’s little sister and he’s crazy protective. That’s complicated too.”

“That’s not complicated. That’s the plot of a rom com.” Jonny laughs thankful for the change of tone. David elbows him in the ribs.

“Or a murder mystery.”

And just like that there’s a second person in Jonny’s life, who knows about him liking guys as well as girls. There are two people now that have accepted the half-answers Jonny has given them and spoken out their support for him anyway and strangely enough that thought lifts Jonny’s spirits enough to have him feel gradually less like moping around and more like enjoying his summer again over the next few days (as much as that’s possible, since it’s a time without hockey). One of these days Jonny thinks, he might tell Patrick about it too, his attraction to guys. He isn’t actually sure how this Patrick stands to this sort of thing but given the fact that a future him wants to marry Jonny –a guy- Jonny is fairly confident that it can’t go _too_ badly. Maybe he’ll find a good time during the convention, though Jonny isn’t very keen on bringing it up with the whole team around. It’s a bit too private for that and while Jonny trusts his team on and off the ice to a certain extent he also knows that not all of them would react as accepting as he’d like them to. There’s a reason why Jonny’s chosen years ago to keep this part of him under wraps. But Patrick is different. Patrick is Patrick.

In the end it doesn’t come quite as planned though.

Jonny is busying loading his dad’s truck back up when Patrick calls. He’s spent the day at the lake, fishing on his own and enjoying the quiet of only nature surrounding him, but now that the sun is setting he’s decided that it was time to head back to the city.

“Claire broke up with me.” Patrick says without much preamble as soon as Jonny picks up.

Jonny waits for some follow up but apparently that was all Patrick had because nothing else except some static comes through the line.

“Okay?” Jonny asks, keeping his voice carefully even. He doesn’t want to jump to any conclusion. Not again, not after he’s gotten his hopes up once before when things with Chloe had ended only to have Patrick jump into the next relationship mere weeks later.

“Okay?” Gets repeated incredulously. “Okay??” Patrick sounds somewhat upset but also a little bit drunk. “Fuck you, ‘s not okay.”

Jonny sighs, leaning against the truck. “Give me some pointers here, dude. Are we… sad? Happy? Angry? All of the above?”

“I don’t knooow, okay?” Patrick slurs slightly and Jonny really hopes he’s at home and not somewhere out. “I’m just- She said that we maybe should ‘see other people’ for a while. Like- What the hell does that mean?”

“Well, I suppose it means that she wants to see other people.” Jonny says slowly. He isn’t really sure what kind of input Patrick expects from him here. He has never met Claire except for that one time at New Year’s, only knows what Patrick has told him about her which isn’t a lot now that Jonny thinks about it. Except that she has great tits. Which- well.

“Yeah but-” Patrick continues mumbling something unintelligible and the next word Jonny is able to make out is a confused “Why?”

“I don’t know, Patrick. How am I supposed to know?” Jonny asks, having the phone pinned between his shoulder and ear as he climbs into the car having finished putting the freezer with today’s catch in the trunk.

“I- Like, does that mean that she- did she- while we were…”

“Don’t go there, Pat.” Jonny warns before Patrick can even fully say it. He knows where this is going, what Patrick is thinking and he knows that nothing good can come from that line of thought.

“Wouldn’t you want to know?” Patrick asks and yeah, okay. Maybe Jonny would ask that very same question if he were in Patrick’s place but that doesn’t make it any less of a stupid idea. Knowing whether or not Claire already ‘saw other people’ while her and Patrick had still been a thing isn’t going to get Patrick anywhere. Except hurt his feelings, ego and pride.

“Patrick, I personally saw you hooking up with other girls.” Jonny points out after a few beats of heavy silence and Patrick breathing down the line. “So you know what they say about pots and kettles and shit.”

“Hey, no.” Patrick interjects almost sounding offended, “No, that was- We had a road deal. You know, what happens on the road stays on the road. She knew about those. I wouldn’t- you know.”

Jonny nods quietly. He’s aware of the road deals of course, quite a few guys have them with their girlfriends, sometimes with various add-ons and conditions but what it essentially boils down to is that while they are in Chicago there is no one else but their girl but on the road everything is fair game as long as it’s not the same girl twice. It’s not something Jonny would see working for himself no matter what end of the bargain he’s on, but he guesses as long as both parties involved know what they are in for it’s not the worst arrangement. He’d prefer it over outright cheating any day.

He clears his throat. “Still, I don’t think you have the moral high ground here. Sorry, Peeks.”

Patrick sighs in response, “You are a shit friend.” It’s delivered without any malice, just a soft murmuring so Jonny knows that Patrick isn’t really mad. Jonny puts the phone on speaker and places it on the dashboard son he can reach up to adjust the rearview mirror, while Patrick breathes through the speaker.

“Oh, sorry, my bad, did you want me to bitch with you about her?” Jonny using the voice he knows Patrick recognizes as joking. “Because you realize you called me, not your sisters?”

“Oh damn really?” Patrick laughs, “Shit, is this not Jackie?”

“No, it’s Erica.” Jonny says flatly which sends Patrick into an uncontrollably giggle fit that lasts for nearly two minutes and has Jonny smirk at the phone.

“Are you done dying?” he asks when Patrick’s laughter has subdued to inconsistent wheezes, that sound a little like a chicken being choked and sure, he’s done worse jokes but it wasn’t _that_ funny, Jonny is pretty sure. “Or do I have to call your actual sisters in the hope that one of them can perform CPR?”

“No,” Patrick gets out after another few half-giggled breaths, “No I’m good. Thank you for your concern though.”

“Any time.”

“Well, anyway. I guess there’s one good thing coming from Claire dropping me.” Patrick says out of the blue.

Jonny clenches his jaw for a second, but wills his thoughts not to go _there_. Instead he just asks: “Such as?” with as much disinterest as he can muster up.

“I don’t have to feel guilty about rekindling my ‘friendship’ with Meghan Meyers while I’m back home.”

Jonny allows himself a moment of imagining hitting his head against the steering wheel before swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Moving on quickly, eh?”

Patrick laughs, “You know how it is.”

Jonny really doesn’t.

“She an Ex of yours?”

“Nah, she’s the first girl to ever touch my dick though.” Patrick explains, ending on a sort of prompting note.

“Ah.” Jonny answers tonelessly. He really hopes Patrick isn’t angling for Jonny telling him about the first person to ever touch Jonny’s dick in that context, because Jonny isn’t really in the mood to make up some story and he’d have to since the truth is not really an option.

“Mhm.” Patrick hums nonsensically and there’s a noise like the rustling of sheets coming through the line before he continues speaking. “Whatcha doin’, Jonny?”

“I’m at the lake.” Jonny says, “Fishing trip.”

Patrick grunts something Jonny doesn’t quite catch, but he’s able to make out some mumbling involving the words ‘Canadian’ and ‘Nature Freak’. Then more clearly, “With the fam?”

“No. It’s just me.” Jonny answers.

Patrick snorts, “Loner.”

“Fuck off.” Jonny grins.

“She’s got a fiancé.” Patrick says somewhat contextless and it takes Jonny a moment to catch up to what Patrick is talking about. Drunk Patrick does this sometimes, skipping over steps with no regards to links and bouncing around from one topic to the next making it hard to follow. Sometimes Jonny thinks Patrick’s mouth just can’t keep up with his mind.

“Who? Meghan?”

“Yeah,” Patrick confirms, “He’s working for the- the… uh. Like with telephones? I don’t know. She told me about him in her email where she asked if we could get together when I’m back in Buffalo.”

“What she got a road deal with him too?” Jonny asks somewhat coldly but either Patrick doesn’t care or he doesn’t pick up on it.

“It’s not the road, Jonny.” Patrick says like _duh._ “It’s Buffalo. It’s _hom_ e.”

“I see.”

“Are you judging me?” he asks answering his own question before Jonny can even attempt to come up with something snarky to reply, “That’s your judgy voice. But Jonnyyyy!”

“What?” Jonny sighs, taking off his cap and running his hand through his hair. He’s gotten it cut before the Awards but it’s been growing back fast.

“She’s _so_ hot.”

“I bet she is.” He’s honestly starting to wonder where this conversation is going and what Patrick wants from Jonny here. Does he want absolution? If so, why would he need it from Jonny? Did he call just to chat? Did he want comfort over the break off with Claire? Does he know himself? Sometimes Jonny really doesn’t get Patrick at all.

“She’s got this- this hair.” Patrick continues unaware of the sarcasm in Jonny’s voice, “Like, blonde? And it used to be super long but Jessica said she saw her at the mall recently and she cut it and now it’s- You know these hot as fuck bob cut thingie? The one Vicky Beckham had? You know?” he pauses and then more urgently: “You know, Jonny? The one- you know?”

“I- Yes. Yes, I know.” Jonny replies even though he doesn’t but it doesn’t seem that important anyway and he’s not really in the mood for drunken Patrick getting hung up on Jonny not knowing some celebrity’s hairstyle.

“Yeah. ‘s cool, right?” Patrick says sounding somewhat satisfied with Jonny’s answer but apparently not done with his rambling yet. “She was like- the hottest of the cheerleader chicks. Meghan I mean. Not Victoria. Like the hottest and- Hey, don’t laugh. She was, I’m telling you! Why are you laughing?”

Jonny can’t help it. Patrick sounds so ridiculous that even though Jonny is not a fan of the conversation topic and the uncomfortable twist it causes in his stomach he just can’t help but snort at Patrick’s words.

“You are such a cliché.” Jonny comments, shaking his head because seriously. Hot, blonde cheerleader girl named Meghan with Patrick the sports jock.

“You are just jealous.” Patrick says and Jonny can practically see the dismissive hand gesture accompanying it. “Anyway, so she was like really fit, because –damn cheerleading you know. And she had a bellybutton piercing. Fuck, I hope she still does. That’d be awesome. So, as a cheerleader she mostly hung with the football crowd though, so me and her, not really that much contact, right?” he pauses and for a moment Jonny thinks he expects some commentary from Jonny but apparently he’d just taken a sip of whatever he was drinking if the loud slurping noise coming through the line is anything to go by. “And she was like a senior and I was a freshman. But then… like…her brother, Jeff- or Jim? I- Josh? Whatever. So her brother was a total nerd and he got assigned to give me tutoring in English because ugh English. Who cares.”

At this point Jonny’s pretty sure he’s in for the long haul here so he settles back into the car seat, glancing at the horizon where the sun has almost completely set, its last rays reflecting on the dark surface of the lake. “Let me guess,” he says, deciding to indulge Patrick on this one, since he clearly has the need to talk about this, “You came over for some tutoring and he miraculously had to leave for whatever obscure reason and you ended up hooking up with his sexy cheerleader sister Meghan who just happened to be there to bear you company. Did she also wear her uniform?”

“How’d you know?” Patrick asks, sounding honestly surprised.

Jonny can’t help but chuckle. “C’mon be honest, Patrick, what is this? Are you retelling your favourite porno or…?”

“Fuck you, that’s how it happened!” Patrick argues and Jonny snorts.

“Sure.”

“For real.” Patrick insists, continuing obliviously, “And for the record her brother was a jerk. He ‘tutored’ me for like five seconds and then bailed to hang with his buddies.”

“Unbelievable. I’m sure you were model student. So he left you –effectively a stranger- alone in his house?”

“Well, no. Meghan was there.” Patrick says slowly and Jonny can basically hear the obnoxious eyebrow-wiggle through the phone.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. What happened then?”

There is more enthusiasm in Patrick’s voice now that Jonny seems to be indulging his story. “Okay, so I was watching TV waiting for it to be time for my mom to come pick me up and she came up to me wanting to switch the channel.”

And okay, Jonny thinks he knows where this is going. “Tell me you didn’t tell her to jerk you off in exchange for the remote control in her own fucking house.”

“I didn’t ask her to! She offered!”

“Uh-huh.”

“She just went for it, man.” Patrick insists. Jonny doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Patrick’s voice drops a little lower. “Like, she sat down next to me and she just, she first… first she like palmed me through my pants and then she unzipped them and I was like ‘what the fuck?’ but she just…” He clears his throat but when he continues his voice sounds raspier than before, “She just took it out, dude.”

Jonny swallows, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m telling you. Just like that.” Patrick confirms accompanied by a breathy sigh and that- Jonny shifts a little. “She had those- She was wearing a lot of rings. One on each finger, like- that was her thing, you know and it was…” he pauses again and for a second all Jonny can hear are Patrick’s breaths coming from the speaker of his phone and embarrassingly and humiliatingly so, that kind of does it for him. He has to reach down and adjust himself, feeling inexplicably ashamed of having to do this with Patrick on the phone. Patrick who doesn’t know what he and his voice can do to Jonny, what they _are_ doing to him. He’s just telling a story, Jonny reminds himself squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself not to follow Patrick’s words and ‘just take it out’. The problem is that while this is not exactly dirty talk, it still conjures up images and that paired with the slow breathy-ness of Patrick’s words, the hoarse rumble in his voice –Jonny is pretty much hotwired to respond to that. Patrick is –apparently every version of him- a talker.

All his self-restraint goes out the window though, when Patrick adds, voice low and rough on his name: “Jonny, her hand was so warm and soft but the rings were cold and hard and have you ever- Jonny, have you- God, it felt so weird and so good, the way she held my cock.”

“And… And then?” Jonny finds himself asking, barely recognizing his own voice. He presses down the heel of his hand against himself and something about the way that movement rubs the inside of his zipper against his hard-on makes Jonny suck in a sharp breath that he desperately hopes goes unnoticed by Patrick.

“Then she jerked me off.” Patrick says, his speech slightly slurred and yet kind of choppy like he’s talking between breaths, “And she like- she knew what she was doing, man. I’m telling you, fuck. She was just rubbing me and, like- You know she- Like… Jonny?”

“Yeah?” Jonny breathes, feeling his flush spreading down his neck. He’s feeling kind of hazy, overwhelmed with what is happening and what it means. How did they even get here, from Patrick talking about his break up to what? Patrick describing his first ever hand job and Jonny getting off to it? All Jonny can think about is the first time Patrick had wrapped his hand around Jonny’s cock, not just talking him through it, but actually touching him, hands so sure and so good and-

“She never even let me kiss her, Jonny. Said she didn’t do it with freshmen. Only _real_ men. Not boys. But fuck, Jonny, the way her hand looked on my dick and the stuff she said…” Patrick stops to pant and groan and for a second there the image of Patrick in his bed back in Buffalo stroking himself while talking to Jonny on the on phone, flashes through Jonny’s mind and he can’t help but whine at that, finally unzipping his pants and shoving his hand inside, “She had- She had that blue nail polish on, you know sparkly and- like she always did it was her favourite and then she like did this thing where she pressed her nail just underneath- I- I swear to god for years I got a boner whenever I saw a chick with that damn nail polish.”

“ _Pat,”_ Jonny whines without really meaning to, unable to comprehend what’s happening except that he’s suddenly so close and Patrick’s laboured breathing coming from his phone was knocking the air right out his lungs. He squeezes his dick, listening to the way Patrick’s breath hitches at the choked off noise Jonny makes and if Patrick would just- Jonny just needs him to-

“She was so good, Jonny. So good. She jerked me so good and I- Fuck, I came all over my pants but she wouldn’t- She- Shit I was so scared someone would see, I-” Patrick says right on cue and it’s not so much his words –his words cause Jonny’s chest to constrict painfully- but his voice that send Jonny over the edge with just a couple of more strokes from his own hand.

It takes him a couple of seconds to come down from it, for the reality that he just jerked off to Patrick’s voice in his dad’s car to sink in, but when it does Jonny can feel everything inside him come to a screeching halt. Fuck.

Jonny scrambles for his phone. “Patrick, are you-” he doesn’t get to finish the sentence before the call ended tone cuts him off, piercing the sudden silence in the car.

_Shit, shit, shit._

When Jonny tries to call Patrick back his call goes straight to voicemail. And so does the next and the one after that. In fact Patrick seems to have powered off his phone immediately after ending the call with Jonny and he doesn’t turn it back on until the next day when Jonny’s busy angrily lifting weights in the basement and only sees it after he’s finishes his rep, sweaty all over and out of breath. It just says _Man I was so drunk yesterday haha. Didn say anything weird rght?_

Jonny barely restrains from smashing his phone against the wall. Instead he tosses it to the side and decides to go for another round. Or two. Or maybe three.

It takes him until after dinner to get over himself. Patrick had been drunk. Jonny had known that. And he’d been upset because of Claire. And if Jonny is being honest with himself he hadn’t really expected that this –this phone call- to mean something. Except that maybe he had harboured some stupid stubborn hope that it had meant a step in the right direction that it had meant-

He doesn’t know. Jonny doesn’t know what he thought just that he’d been wrong and that the hurt and disappointment are as irrational as they are persistent.

_Weird like what_? He texts back, willing to give Patrick this out if he really wants it. There’s a chance that Patrick really was too drunk to remember.

Patrick never replies though and in a way that’s answer enough.

 

***

**_ Jonny is 20 and Patrick is 27 and 19 _ **

When Jonny had first hid that box in the hollow tree trunk back in the woods where Patrick had appeared that first time, there had been nothing but a pair of shorts and an old T-Shirt inside. Over the years and seasons it had gotten filled with more and more. A mismatched collection of clothing and shoes (ranging from an old ice-fishing parka of Jonny’s to a pair of bright purple flip flops), as well as a pair of skates and a hockey stick. For years that had been all in the secret box but this summer Jonny has added a new item to the assembly: an old Nokia cell phone, one of those that seem to be indestructible with seemingly endless battery life. There’s only one number saved in it and that is Jonny’s.

Faced with the problem of the list being outdated by over a year now, the working system of Jonny meeting Patrick out here in the woods has to be reconsidered, since it had so far been replaced by Patrick sneaking into the house with nothing but blind hope and the faith in his own luck that Jonny’s parents wouldn’t run into him. But now they’ve got the cell phone and the first time its number appears on the display of Jonny’s phone he almost drops it before racing outside and into the woods where he finds Patrick –already dressed- leaning against a tree and grinning brightly.

He waves the post-it note Jonny has stuck on the phone before placing it in the box around. _Call me_ it says.

“Well, hello there Ms. Jepsen,” Patrick coos, tugging Jonny down by his collar and into a kiss. “I called you maybe.”

“What?” Jonny frowns, because Patrick isn’t making much sense but that only serves to make him giggle, slinging one arm around Jonny’s waist and pressing his face against his shoulder. Jonny takes it for what it is and goes for the hug, pressing his face into Patrick’s curls, breathing in his scent. He’s a bit sweaty and Jonny catches the glimpse of something that could either be a hickey or a normal bruise where the collar of his shirt dips a bit lower. The feeling of having Patrick in his arms is so soothing it feels like all the parts inside Jonny that have felt jittery and off beat -ever since that disastrous phone call- click back into place. It doesn’t last nearly as long as Jonny would like though because Patrick steps back far too quickly, showing Jonny a dimply smile.

“Call me?” he says, stressing the words in a funny way that seems to give Jonny some sort of clue but as it is it only serves to irritate Jonny further. “Call me _maybeeeeeee_? No?” Now it’s Patrick’s turn to frown but it quickly dissolves into understanding and he switches to rolling his eyes. “Damn it’s not out yet. There goes my joke and all its opportunities. You’ll be missed.”

“What are you talking about?” Jonny asks even though his confusion is mostly overshadows by the dumb warmth he feels at seeing Patrick so happy and carefree. It’s such a stark contrast to the radio silence Jonny has been receiving from present Patrick the past weeks.

To Jonny’s horror and absolute (internal) delight Patrick doesn’t give him a straight answer and instead starts to actually fucking sing, deliberately off-key and on the top of his lungs in possibly the worst Canadian accent Jonny has ever had the misfortune of hearing.

“ _Before you came into my life I missed you so bad,”_ he sings loudly, eyes twinkling at Jonny as he gets on his tip toes to catch Jonny’s lips for another quick kiss, “ _I missed you so bad.”_

Jonny grins, ducking his head. “You missed me?”

“So bad,” Patrick repeats, “So, where you think we’re going, baby?”

“Well…” Jonny licks his lips and rubs his neck. “My parents aren’t home and David’s hanging with some friends.”

“Is that so? Mh…” Patrick tilts his head, making a show out of considering it, “Does that mean you are going to wine and dine me, Mr. Toews? Make me feel real special?”

Jonny smirks. “You are in a real good mood, eh?”

He guesses Patrick isn’t quite up for sex yet not when he –for the lack of a better word- looks as well-fucked as it gets already and honestly, Jonny doesn’t mind that much. Sure he loves having sex with Patrick and he pretty much jumps at every chance he gets, but just spending time with Patrick as it is, is pretty damn great and Jonny’s really grateful for the chance to do so, even if it ends up just them watching a movie and cuddling or working out. But if Patrick wants to be dined, well, Jonny can do that.

“Perhaps.” Patrick says, ominously wiggling his eyebrows, “And don’t even ask. I’m not telling you.”

“Whatever.” Jonny shrugs. He’s just happy that Patrick is here. By the way Patrick bumps their shoulders together as they start walking toward the house, Jonny guesses Patrick knows that.

They’ve been in the kitchen for about five minutes, Patrick sitting on the counter dangling his feet and flicking through Jonny’s mom’s recipe collection while Jonny studies the contents of the fridge, when suddenly Jonny’s phone rings. He fumbles it out of his back pocket and frowns at the screen.

“In high demand today, huh?” Patrick comments, having hopped off of the counter to walk up behind Jonny and hook his chin over his shoulder and glancing at the ringing phone. “Ooh, it’s _me_. Again.”

For a second Jonny just stares at Patrick’s name on the display, then almost mechanically he hits the call decline button and places the phone face down on the counter in front of him. Patrick makes a surprised noise but Jonny ignores it, clenching his jaw and walking over to the sink to pour himself a glass of tab water.

Patrick’s gaze is still transfixed on Jonny’s phone when he turns around but after a moment, almost like he senses Jonny’s eyes on him he tears it away meeting Jonny’s.

“What the hell, Jonny, don’t ignore me.” he says and while it’s phrased as a demand there’s an unspoken question carried between the words “That’s not very Canadian of you.”

“Yeah, well.” Jonny places his now empty glass on the counter next to the phone. He didn’t make an effort for it not to clunk so the noise rings between them for a second. “If you don’t want to be ignored maybe don’t be an asshole and ignore me for weeks.”

Before this summer Jonny has deemed it pretty much impossible for himself to hold a grudge against Patrick for an extended period of time but now things have shifted and Jonny can’t help but feel hurt and angry at Patrick’s behaviour. It hadn’t been Jonny who’d turned their conversation into that questionable direction. He’d simply gone along with Patrick and he doesn’t think he deserves to be shunned for that without so much as an explanation. He gets that it probably didn’t mean as much to Patrick as it did to Jonny but still. It royally sucks to be treated like this.

Patrick looks taken aback for a second –probably by the sharpness in Jonny’s voice. When he reaches for Jonny’s phone that has just buzzed with an incoming text Jonny stops him with a hand on the wrist. “Don’t.” he says more softly and before he lets go he runs his thumb over the faint surgical scar there –one that Jonny has no idea when or how it gets there.

“Maybe he’s trying to apologize?” Patrick suggests, then after a moment he adds, “What happened? Why are you guys ignoring each other?”

“Maybe ask him that,” Jonny snaps and Patrick bites his lip, “Or better yet, _you_ tell me. You should remember, right?”

“How am I-” Patrick throws his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t even know what freaking year it is. C’mon Jonny.”

Jonny crosses his arms. “You told me about Meghan Meyers,” he says pointedly. It makes him blush a little but manages to keep his voice carefully blank. Thinking back to that day still makes him feel a number of conflicting feelings. Most of all it’s anger and hurt though. Anger at himself and his own stupidity and anger at Patrick for dropping off the face of the earth without so much as a word of explanation. Even an ‘I don’t know I’m sorry can we please forget this happened’ would have been enough for Jonny in hindsight. Everything would be better than nothing. In the back of his mind Jonny recognizes the contradiction to that and him ignoring Patrick now but he can’t help it.

“Meg- Who?” Patrick pulls a face, furrowing his brows as he rubs his chin. Jonny waits but the penny doesn’t seem to drop and every passing second of Patrick not remembering manifests Jonny’s suspicion. It hadn’t been a real story, something Patrick retold as it had happened to him. He’d made it up, all of it and Jonny has no idea what to do with that.

“Meghan Meyers. Blonde. Cheerleader. Allegedly gave you your first hand job.” He supplies raising his eyebrows. Finally there’s something close to realization dawning on Patrick’s face.

“Oh,” he says quietly, “That. The phone call.”

“Yeah. That.”

“Okay so- So you are ignoring him for ignoring you after …abruptly ending that call.” Patrick summarizes shooting Jonny a calculating glance. “That about right?”

“Yes,” Jonny replies getting a nod in return.

Patrick sighs, then: “C’mere, Jonny.” He steers Jonny to the couch by his shirt where they sit down face to face. Patrick tugs up his dirty feet (he had opted against shoes for their walk back for some reason) on the cushions. Jonny makes a mental note about doing some laundry before his parents come home this evening. “I’m not saying I was- or he _is_ right for what he did. I am not okay? You have the right to be pissed, but have you maybe tried thinking about why I would do something like that? Getting off with you on the phone and then cutting all contact after?”

“I don’t know.” Jonny shakes his head. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t get it, Pat. I’m sorry but I don’t. I might if you- if he would just talk to me, but he doesn’t. He _ignored_ me. That’s the whole fucking problem.”

“He’s not being a dick just to be a dick, Jonny. Come on. Think about it.”

_I have,_ Jonny wants to yell, because he has. He has done nothing but think about it for the past weeks. He has tried figuring it out, what he’s done wrong, what he should have done instead. Should he have hung up the second he knew where this call was headed? But how could he have done that, not knowing if maybe this as strange as it may be could be the start of them? Or should he have told, Patrick to stop or tried calling him more often after and told Patrick what weird shit he’d said, not giving him the out of being-

“…he was drunk.” Jonny says slowly and Patrick nods. “What? So he doesn’t remember? No, if he didn’t remember he wouldn’t avoid me like the plague. Don’t bullshit me.”

“He was _drunk_.” Patrick repeats and Jonny stares at him. “He’s been _drinking._ A lot.”

“He…travelled?” Jonny narrows his gaze. Patrick _had_ been drunk, and he’d –if Jonny had interpreted those noise correctly- had an orgasm too. Both things that Jonny knows come with a bit of risk enhancement in regards of Patrick’s travelling, so there is a chance that- “Fine.” He allows. “that gives him an excuse for not answering immediately after, but it’s been weeks, Patrick. Fucking weeks. Shit, I get that he isn’t my boyfriend yet and maybe it was just getting off to him, but I’m his friend. He’s supposed to be my fucking friend.”

“Yes,” Patrick nods and takes Jonny’s hand in his. It’s not so much to comfort Jonny, it’s more a subconscious thing, something future Patrick does for himself, as a habit, a way of grounding himself. For a second there Jonny is jealous because Patrick gets to do this unthinkingly, knowing that Jonny will let him, that Jonny is his Jonny, no matter which time and which version. Jonny doesn’t have that with Patrick. Not yet, maybe not for a while. He stretches his fingers, splays them open so Patrick can slot his between. “Yes, you are his friend, Jonny. But do you know what else you are?”

Jonny pauses. “It’s… It’s because I’m a guy?”

“Partially yes.” Patrick answers, but the expression on his face had been confirmation enough even before. He looks apologetic and yet defiant and also a tiny bit miserable. Almost like he’s remembering something he’d rather not revisit.

“But-” Jonny mumbles staring at their joined hand then at Patrick and back. Patrick has been cutting Jonny out because Jonny is a guy? Because he had phone sex with a guy? Phone sex that _he_ had initiated. Jonny gets that not everyone is comfortable with their sexuality and there’ll always be homophobic pricks or people that are just too narrow-minded but Patrick- Patrick is Patrick. He’s-

“Jonny,” Patrick cuts in, his eyes averted. “I need you to keep in mind that not everyone had the privilege of growing up with the absolute certainty that who you were and the attraction you felt wasn’t wrong. Some kids grow up hating themselves for those things.” He glances up at Jonny through his eyelashes and for a moment there he doesn’t look like his almost thirty years but so much younger, so much sadder. “You are a guy. You are his best friend. His teammate. His Captain. You are everything he grew up thinking he wasn’t allowed to want.”

Jonny swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, searching Patrick’s face for any hint of a reassuring smile but there’s nothing. “I get how me being his teammate and his captain ad shit could be a problem –objectively- but me being a guy? You are- You are gay.”

Technically Jonny doesn’t get either how him being or rather becoming Patrick’s Captain may factor into Patrick’s odd behaviour since Jonny hasn’t told Patrick yet. The call –them offering him the C and Jonny accepting it- had come in the midst of Patrick ignoring him and at some point Jonny had decided to preserve some of his dignity and just stop calling. It seems vastly unimportant now though, in the light of what Patrick’s disclosing. Because Patrick is gay. Jonny knows that. There had been a stormy day in October, back when Jonny had been fifteen and he’d wanted to know if Patrick was like him –attracted to both men and women. Patrick had told him after a little bit of back and forth and Jonny being an annoying brat, that he himself identified as gay but that there may or may not have been a couple of girls too. That last part had had Jonny sulk a bit but Patrick had reminded him gently that whenever Patrick and he would meet, there’d always be the fact that Patrick had had a life before Jonny and that would have been longer than Jonny’s five years of life before Patrick.

“I am.” Patrick agrees quietly, “But it takes me a while to be okay with that.”

And just like that Jonny almost doesn’t feel angry anymore. Instead he just feels sad and ashamed and tremendously sorry. He’d just assumed, in childish ignorance and maybe a bit of entitlement that Patrick would be on the same page as Jonny and his future self. He’s so stupid for it to never have occurred to him how when Patrick was talking about how his younger self will have ‘to get there’ he didn’t just mean falling in love with Jonny but more, something that isn’t directly Jonny if maybe linked to him in some way.

“…so he’s- He’s not okay with-”

“Oh, he’s okay with other people liking guys.” Patrick cuts in and okay, that’s something at least but still.

“Just not himself.” Jonny finishes and Patrick squeezes his hand.

“Yeah. It’s-”

Jonny doesn’t let him finish, just pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s body and pulling him as close as their position allows and while Patrick melts into it he also laughs, softly, quietly.

“Oh, hey, no it’s okay. Jonny, hey…” he says but Jonny doesn’t let go, just squeezes tighter. His throat feels raw when he speaks.

“Some kids grow up hating themselves?” he says and lets Patrick pull back a few centimetres to look him in the eyes.

Patrick gives him an apologetic smile and nudges Jonny’s nose with his, “I’m just saying cut the kid some slack maybe.”

“I don’t want you- him- hating yourself.” Jonny mumbles as Patrick captures his mouth in a kiss.

“Of course you don’t.” Patrick says as they part. “Now, c’mon. I’m not the one needing a hug here, am I?”

Jonny sighs and Patrick puts his phone in his hand. Jonny hadn’t even noticed him taking it with them from the kitchen. They settle on the couch with Jonny’s back against Patrick’s chest, sitting between his legs the phone balancing on his knees set on speaker phone. It rings approximately three times before Patrick picks up.

“Dude!” he exclaims in a way of greeting and Jonny is momentarily distracted by future Patrick pressing his face into Jonny’s shoulder, chuckling silently.

“Dude.” Jonny says back with a tad less enthusiasm. It’s good to hear Patrick’s voice again even though technically Jonny’s been just talking to a version of it, but it’s also weird because the last time they spoke like this is still burned inside Jonny’s mind and he can’t help be reminded of it.

“I just heard, they offered you the C? That’s crazy, bro! You took it, right? Tell me you took it.”

“I took it.” Jonny confirms and Patrick –future Patrick- presses a kiss to his neck, mumbling an almost inaudible “Congrats by the way.” into his ear. “They’ll announce it on Friday at the convention.”

“Were you not gonna tell me?” Patrick says then and Jonny tenses, because okay, fine, Jonny is cool with pretending nothing happened if that’s what Patrick needs to figure shit out for himself. He’s willing to give him that much, but this is Patrick outright referring to this period of non-communication between them and that’s just- What the hell does Patrick expect from him. His older self stays suspiciously quiet.

“Jonny?”

Jonny swallows. “What.”

There’s heavy silence for a few moments that has Jonny tense up and future Patrick must be able to tell because he starts rubbing his hands up and down Jonny’s arms and Jonny can’t help but wonder what is going through _his_ head right now. If he’s truly here with Jonny or if he’s remembering how it was to be on the other end of this phone call, if he knows exactly what is going to happen, what Patrick is going to say, what Jonny says in return.

“I… look.” Patrick says and Jonny can hear him taking a deep breath on the other end of the line, “I didn’t… mean to make things weird.”

Jonny doesn’t say anything and again they are both silent, because Jonny honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. When it stretches on for too long future Patrick starts poking Jonny’s side.

“Is that all?” Jonny asks, but he makes sure to keep the harshness out of his voice.

“Look, I don’t know, okay?” Patrick says with a hint of urgency. “I was drunk and horny and confused because of Claire and it just kind of happened.”

“You think that’s what I’m mad about? Because let me remind you, Patrick, we _both_ jerked off to you describing a hand job there.”

Patrick is silent for a moment and then there’s a tentative “…Yes?” coming through.

“You were drunk, Patrick.” Jonny takes a deep breath, feeling future Patrick’s arms tightening around him. “I wasn’t. I get that it was just- just getting off to you. I would have-” He pauses and closes his eyes. “I would have gotten that, Kaner. You ignoring me for weeks after? I don’t get that.”

“I’m sorry.” Is all Patrick says, sounding meek and miserable and Jonny hates that so much, Patrick sounding like that and it’s because of Jonny and he hates that almost as much.

“Yeah well.” He isn’t sure what else to say. He’s given Patrick all the outs he can think of. Being drunk, it just having been getting off, not meaning anything. If Patrick struggles with Jonny being a guy and all that, this should help, right? At least a little bit.

“I was worried you might take it the wrong way.” Patrick adds then. At first Jonny wants to tell him that he’d know Jonny didn’t if he’d just bothered picking up his phone, but he isn’t 100 percent sure that it’d be the truth. Jonny does have the tendency to …get to intense about things. He’s aware of that.

“And what way would that be?” he ends up asking instead.

“You know I like girls.” Patrick says. A wonderful non-answer that has the Patrick behind Jonny press another kiss into Jonny’s neck before burrowing his face there, soft breaths brushing over Jonny’s skin.

“So do I,” Jonny says after clearing his throat. “What’s your point?” Somehow he’s suddenly got the feeling that his idea of telling Patrick about his mutual attraction to guys might not be such a good idea, not in the light of the phone call. If Patrick has had a minor freak out about having ‘gay’ phone sex with Jonny a straight™ guy Jonny being bi might make it worse for him.

“You do?” Patrick asks, sounding somewhat surprised, and –ok.

“Yeah?”

“Oh. I- we just, kinda thought you… don’t like anyone…” Jonny is sort of thankful for Patrick sounding confused and mildly embarrassed instead of miserable but now Jonny is just fucking confused. “Or like… I mean… Because you never pick up or anything.”

“I do like… people!” Jonny cuts in after opening and closing his mouth for a couple of seconds like a fish trying to breathe air.

“Are you shy then? Or just super picky? I mean-”

This is like a horrible déjà vu.

“God, what did I do to-” Jonny feels the needs to bury his face in his hand which subsequently leads to his words being slightly muffled but he can’t bring himself to care. “Look, why do people care so much who I do -or do not- sleep with?”

“It’s just weird because you are so- I mean because there are –according to the internet- a bunch of sadly misguided souls who find your ugly ass face attractive in some sort of delusional way so… like…” Patrick makes a sort of scoffing noise that Jonny imagines to be accompanied by some sort of shrug, “I mean you are twenty and like a celebrity and shit so it’s weird that you’ve never-”

“Patrick.” Jonny cuts in, his voice sort of choked off. He wiggles around so he can sort of look future Patrick in the face if he cranes his neck, “Patrick, do you and the guys think I’m a virgin?”

There’s a long pause and then “…Yes?” and Jonny sort of wants to die and he’s pretty sure he might, the way his face flames up and the sudden need to drown himself in the nearest lake bubbles up. Future Patrick just makes some sort of weird face that’s a mix between amusement and sympathy and Jonny kind of wants to drown him too. What the actual fuck.

It’s not so much that they think he’s a virgin. It’s perfectly fine to not have had sex if you never wanted to or just never found the right person it’s more that apparently Jonny and his sex-life have been topic of conversations –conversations he hadn’t been part of and obviously the general consensus or at least Patrick’s had been that Jonny is a virgin.

“You could have just asked.” Jonny gets out with some difficulty. This is so bizarre. He’s lying in the arms of the man who literally _took_ his virginity while talking to the man who _will_ have taken it. And that’s just-

Jonny’s head hurts. “I am not. For the record.” He adds after a moment of silence. “Not that it is anyone’s business.”

“Oh. Okay. So… girls, yeah?” Patrick laughs while future Patrick shakes his head, looking torn somewhere between fond and sad. It’s an odd combination and Jonny doesn’t know what to do with it anymore than with the subdued relief he detects in younger Patrick’s voice.

“Yeah. Girls.” Jonny repeats tonelessly, glad about the question’s broadness. He doesn’t know if he’d lie if Patrick asked if he has also fucked girls in addition to liking them. Technically Jonny hasn’t admitted to that, apparently though it’s enough to say that he likes girls and has had sex before for Patrick to jump to the most convenient conclusion.

Jonny glances at future Patrick and his unreadable expression and decides to leave it at that for now.

“Cool, so we good?” there’s still a hint of uncertainty left in Patrick’s voice and it kills Jonny a little bit to think that Patrick is so insecure and unsure about where he stands with Jonny because he had fucked up.

“We are good.” Jonny reassures him. “Just don’t pull this ignoring shit on me again. That’s not cool. Just… I- Well. Talk to me instead.”

Patrick snorts. “You are not exactly a talking person.”

“I actually am.” Jonny says, “So. Just don’t bullshit me and we’re cool.”

“That gonna be your captain-ly policy too? An open ear but no bullshit?”

Jonny hums in agreement and settles back against future Patrick’s chest who immediately wraps his arms around Jonny, hooking his chin over his shoulder. “I’m serious, Patrick. You can talk to me about shit. You are not alone, okay?”

There’s silence coming through the line for a couple of moments then: “Aww, Tazer, I’m touched. So there _is_ a beating heart inside that chest of yours not just a hockey puck. Better call the papers and get that front page booked.”

Jonny doesn’t know why he’s surprised by getting chirped for this but somehow he is. If he’s honest though even if he wasn’t he wouldn’t come up with any better comeback than a lame “Fuck off” that promptly earns him silent laughter from future Patrick, tickling his neck.

“You are gonna regret making this offer when I call you at 3am to discuss the latest ANTM episode with you.” Patrick warns him.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “God, I fucking hate you.”

“Likewise, Cap.” Patrick replies suddenly obnoxiously chirpy, “See you at the convention. Ciao!”

And just like that the Patrick hangs up and the phone call is over.

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I googled when "Call me maybe" was released for this chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this :) Please leave a comment and tell me if you did and if you are feeling particularly generous, maybe say why or what specifically.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****!WARNING!****
> 
> This chapter will contain rape (not between Patrick and Jonny). I mentioned this in the general notes that are under every chapter already, but I'm pointing it out again, because this is the chapter where it happens.
> 
> Jonny gets coerced into having sex wiht a woman. He does not want it which makes it rape. Only the aftermath and preamble are being described, not the actual rape itself.
> 
> So you have been warned.

The convention is for the lack of a better word, mind-blowing. It’s amazing to see how over the course of one season –despite missing the playoffs by a hair’s breadth- Chicago’s interest in Hockey has pretty much skyrocketed. While they’ve been playing in front of mostly empty ranks, the Chicago Hilton is now buzzing with people, all here for them –for their team. And that –that feels amazing. When you are a little boy, dreaming of playing for one of the original six, this is what you dream of.

While most of the guys have attended many such events over the years (some with the Hawks, some with other teams) it’s the first time for Patrick and Jonny. They’ve gotten mostly used to being thrown in the spotlight over the season, well-aware of their responsibility to the franchise as its new faces, but when Jonny is announced Captain on the first day of the convention it all amplifies by a tenfold and Jonny is so so grateful for the small solace that is having Patrick and his easy smile and charming wit with him for most of the interviews he’s subsequently thrust into.

At some point Jonny starts feeling like a record being played over and over again until he can barely stand his own voice anymore, repeating how yes, it’s a great honour and yes, he is aware of the big expectations and responsibility resting on his shoulders now but is confident in his abilities and the team behind him and yes, yes he fucking knows that he’s the third youngest Captain in the league after Crosby and Lecavalier for god’s sake.

Duncs and Sharpy are named his As (even though it won’t be announced to the public until October) and at the end of the day it’s not the announcement itself or Coach or the front office that make Jonny feel like this is real but Duncs patting him on the back quietly telling him he’s got his back. It almost feels like too much but eventually instead of quiet nervousness Jonny starts feeling electrified by it and the city’s energy and it fills him with determination. They’ve trusted him with the C despite him only having played on season and the older, more experienced guys on the team have not only accepted it but almost all of them have spoken out in support of the decision, seeking him out and showing their approval, either by a simple pat on the back or by a few sincere words spoken between jokes and chirps. They believe in his leadership, in his ability to be a good captain to this team and that above all makes Jonny believe it too. That and the hug Patrick gives him after they walk off the stage, giddy with excitement and beaming with barely concealed anticipation for the upcoming season.

“I’m telling you, man,” he says fiercely. “This season, you and me, Cap, we are gonna rock this city.”

It’s merely a variation of what they’ve promised each other at locker cleanout back in April or even more months in the past –that day on the bench when Patrick had told him about travelling to the future and Chicago becoming home, but it feels no less sincere now, no less energizing.

“Well, you better score some more goals then,” Jonny teases with a grin. “Calder winner who? Gotta earn those feathers, Peeks.”

Patrick punches him in the arm with his mouth stretched into a fond grin. “Just you wait. Hat trick after hat trick, calling it now.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Jonny says causing Patrick to grin even wider.

“You better.”

***

They don’t talk about the phone call.

***

 

**_ Jonny is 20 and Patrick is 19 and 29 _ **

Sunday night after the last day of the convention has wrapped, up the team goes out to celebrate. No one is really sure what exactly they are celebrating but the general consensus is it being a mix of Jonny’s newly awarded captaincy, the hopes for the new season and just the glee of seeing each other again after the first few months of their early summer. They end up in some bar-club hybrid, which Jonny and Patrick only get in with ‘Under 21’ bracelets tied to their wrists. It’s merely more than a farce since everybody knows the older guys will buy them beer anyway, but Jonny doesn’t really mind that much because it saves him from having to go and get their table their drinks when it would technically be his turn since –well. Nobody goes to an establishment like this to drink coke all night.

Jonny’s making his way back from the restroom to their booth when Patrick –a tall and pretty blonde in tow- cuts off his path.

“Oh capitaine mon capitaine,” Patrick exclaims mock-solemnly while absolutely butchering every syllable.

Jonny just raises his eyebrows. The girl –or rather woman- is eyeing Jonny from her spot at Patrick’s side, a small curious smile playing on her lips. She’s quite pretty he supposes. He likes her freckles and the hint of lean muscles on her bracelet clad arms.

“May I have the questionable honour of introducing you to this lovely damsel in distress here?” Patrick continues, unimpressed as ever by Jonny’s glare. In fact he starts to giggle and proceeds to make some sort of bow-curtsy hybrid. “Jonny meet Chrissie. Chrissie meet Captain Jonathan-No-Fun-Allowed-Toews.”

“Hello,” the woman –Chrissie- says sweetly, extending her hand for Jonny to shake.

“Hi,” Jonny mutters, somewhat distracted by the way Patrick is gawking at their handshake. It’s… odd.

None of them say anything else. Chrissie keeps smiling, Patrick keeps staring and Jonny is getting increasingly irritated.

“What’s going on?” Jonny asks, trying to not come off as rude while simultaneously getting to the bottom of Patrick’s little mission here.

“You see, Jonny,” Patrick begins, basically jumping at Jonny’s prompt like he’s been waiting for it, “Chrissie here is in quite the dire situation and I fear only you can help her out.”

“Uhm.” Jonny’s eyes dart to Chrissie who clasps her hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter then back to Patrick who’s wiggling his eyebrows.

“He’s being silly.” Chrissie shakes her head dismissively at Patrick after taking a moment to gather herself. “He noticed that I’m a fan-” she flicks the little Indianhead-earrings dangling from her ears “-and asked who my favourite player is and-”

“You,” Patrick interrupts her giving Jonny a meaningful and not at all subtle look. “It’s you and what more proof do we need that Chrissie is sadly suffering from a severe case of lapse of taste? So now we need _you_ to cure her by being your usual lame-ass-loser-self so she can be free and stan someone worth her while.” _Moi_ he mouthes like the douche he is.

Jonny snorts. Patrick is being ridiculous and he’s not even that drunk –they are in the States and while Patrick isn’t usually squeamish, they’ve decided to not take any risks tonight and stick with only a couple of beers. He is however for some reason acting like he’s way more drunk than Jonny knows he _could_ be. A part of Jonny suspects that it might be his post-convention excitement burning high and maybe Jonny is even willing to indulge him for a bit.

The mission as it seems is having Jonny flirt with a pretty female and probably get a couple of laughs out of the whole endeavour.

“Chrissie. I am infinitely sorry for anything this idiot has said and ever will say,” Jonny says, smirking at Chrissie while Patrick gasps –mock-offended.

“Heeey.”

“Shut it.”

Chrissie giggles again.

“Buy her a drink,” Patrick whisper-shouts into Jonny’s ear as he leans over and there is no way Chrissie hasn’t heard that with the way she’s now smirking at them.

Patrick very unsubtly nudges Jonny’s ribs with his elbow. Instead of dignifying it with a verbal response Jonny simply raises his wrist, waving his ‘Under 21’ bracelet in Patrick’s face. Before Patrick can retort with any other stupid suggestions Chrissie swoops in smoothly with a charming smile on her pretty face.

“Can _I_ buy you a drink?” she asks, placing a deliberate hand on Jonny’s upper arm. She’s obviously older than them. Jonny guesses about five years, if not more. She acts younger though, more girlish.

Jonny instantly flushes. “That’s really not-”

“He’ll take a beer,” Patrick interjects quickly and before Jonny can object Chrissie starts making her way over to the bar and Jonny has to watch Patrick watching her ass as she walks away.

As soon as she’s out of earshot Jonny turns to Patrick and that stupid grin on his face. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Dude, I’m helping!” Patrick claims and okay, Jonny has somewhat assumed this, but that doesn’t mean it makes any more sense spoken out loud.

"With what?" Jonny asks, "I'm perfectly capable of- I mean, I _could_ pick up girls myself."

"But you don't." Patrick argues and he somehow makes it sound like by doing so Jonny is personally offending him.

“Yeah, I don’t. And I really wish you wouldn’t-”

“C’mon, Jonnyyy,” Patrick whines, “She’s pretty and funny and she buys you beer _and_ she’s willing to settle for your sorry ass when she could have-” he gestures to himself, smiling sunnily.

“Yeah, you are quite the catch,” Jonny says dryly, like he wouldn’t give everything for Patrick and that smile of his. “She’s truly missing out.”

“She sure is, but you know we are all hell bent on digging our own personal graves here so c’mon, just go for it, Taze.”

 _But I don’t_ want _to go for it,_ Jonny thinks, pinching the bridge of his nose. Usually he’d tell Patrick to fuck off right about now with this kind of bullshit (there had been previous attempts at getting Jonny with girls over the past season), but future Patrick’s words are still so very present in Jonny’s mind, asking Jonny to consider little Patrick’s side of things, talking about him struggling a lot with himself and his sexuality. This now might be Patrick overcompensating, leftovers of Patrick’s freak out about the phone call and his fear that Jonny might take things the wrong way that could only be soothed by Jonny assuring him about his attraction to girls.

“Please?” Patrick adds after a couple of beats of silence from Jonny, “For me?”

“For you?” Jonny raises his eyebrows.

Patrick looks caught for a moment but then his face shifts back to a smile as he leans in conspiratorialy and whispers: “I’ve got a bet with Sharpy, that I’d get you to hook up with her. So please, Jonny. For me. You don’t want me losing to _Sharpy._ ”

“Are you serious?”

A bet. There’s a fucking bet about getting Jonny to fuck some lady. What the actual fuck.

“Come ooon. How much of a hardship could it possibly be?” Patrick pokes Jonny’s ribs again.

“It wouldn’t be _hard_ ,” Jonny deadpans before he can really think about it. When he realizes he blushes immediately but thankfully Patrick chooses not to comment and just throws his head back in laughter.

“You said you like girls! Chrissie is a girl. She’s a pretty girl. What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing is,” Jonny admits begrudgingly. It’s the same old story, just like being in college and TJ bugging him all over again. “Just- I don’t want to hook up with her. I honestly don’t get why my sex life is of such interest to you people.”

“Your _non-existent_ sex life,” Patrick corrects and Jonny is almost itching with the fact that Jonny’s sex life –while complicated by inter-dimensional time travel- is very much existent and most importantly involves Patrick in a pretty extensive way.

Jonny clenches his jaw around the words, swallowing them down as he shoots a glance towards the bar where Chrissie has just received a beer and some colourful cocktail, then he looks back at Patrick catching him biting his lip as he’s followed Jonny’s gaze and is now blushing at getting caught. It hits Jonny then, how much he isn’t sure about what this Patrick is thinking. If this is about a bet, if it’s about Patrick’s own insecurities or if it’s about Jonny in some fucked up way. All he knows is that apparently Patrick really wants Jonny to ‘go for this’.

He groans. “What happens if you lose the bet?” One look at Patrick’s face has him add: “Do I want to know?”

“Nope,” Patrick says, popping the ‘P’.

“Fucking hell,” Jonny mumbles, “The things I do for y- Oh hey, Chrissie.” he smiles awkwardly at her as she hands him his beer, sipping at her cocktail straw with a questioning quirk to her eyebrow.

“Hey, Chrissie,” Patrick echoes.

“Hey boys.” She looks over to the booth filled with hockey players who are -Jonny is noticing just now- watching them very intently and very unsubtly. “So I assume we are sitting over there?”

 

***

 

Chrissie is nice.

She is very nice until she isn’t. She squeezes into the booth next to him after giving up on getting Jonny to dance with her and strings up an animated conversation with the guys that Jonny is actually surprised to find he enjoys taking part in. She’s the manager of some restaurant that has Duncs nod appreciatively. She tries placing his hand on her thigh a couple of times but when he quietly removes it time and time again with an apologetic smile she cuts it out and doesn’t say anything. She settles for pressing herself closer to his side and while Jonny isn’t exactly comfortable with that either he can’t say anything since Patrick and Sharpy are sitting opposite of him. Whereas Sharpy seems mostly interested in texting Abby and arguing with Burr, Patrick seems very unsubtly interested in Jonny’s progress with Chrissie.

Not for the first time Jonny wonders what exactly is on the line for Patrick here, but more importantly how Jonny is going to remove himself from the equation, since he really doesn’t want to go home with Chrissie. As nice as she may be and despite her prettiness, just because Jonny’s dick would technically be up for the task doesn’t mean he wants to actually do it.

He’s going to have to talk to her he realizes belatedly and he’s going to have to do it soon. He’s sorry for potentially ruining her night by leading her on but Patrick keeps throwing him glances and Jonny has caught the occasional silent exchange between Patrick and Sharpy and the moment just has never been right. And so the evening had progressed and now Jonny is pretty sure he’s fucked because Chrissie is probably pretty convinced that she’s going to go home with a hockey player tonight and Jonny’s going to have to find a way to weasel out of it.

“Hey, Chrissie,” Jonny begins, leaning in closely so he can whisper in her ear since he isn’t too keen on everyone listening in, but somehow she must have misread the movement because just as he’s gearing up to ask her if they could maybe talk outside, she turns her head, pressing her lips to his in an unexpected kiss, which –ok. Jonny makes a surprised noise, but he doesn’t get a chance to pull back as she catches his jaw with her hand and a “Get it, Taze.” is hollered by Burr, which reminds Jonny of his audience.

He blushes and he’s sure she must be able to sense his tension but it doesn’t seem to faze her much. She just keeps kissing him and after a couple of more blinks Jonny’s befuddled brain catches up and he obediently opens his mouth, allowing her to push her tongue into his mouth, just as he realizes that he should probably close his eyes too. God, did kissing ever require this much thinking before?

Chrissie is the fourth person Jonny has ever kissed or been kissed by. There’s been Jenny, his first kiss all those years ago after gym class and then TJ and Patrick of course. For all that Jonny sees himself as attracted to both men and women he finds himself faced with the fact that of all his kisses he’s never actually kissed a woman and enjoyed it. Maybe it is though, because neither Chrissie nor Jenny meant anything to Jonny while Patrick and TJ are both people that Jonny has an emotional connection to. TJ is Jonny’s friend and Patrick is Patrick.

He can barely hide his relief when the kiss finally ends and Chrissie settles back with a satisfied smile on her lips.

Jonny feels like a cheater. To her, to Patrick, to all the people that are watching right now. Some of it must show on his face because Sharpy kicks him under the table shooting him a questioning glance, but in the same moment Jonny’s phone buzzes with an incoming text. _Gonna take her home?_ It’s from Patrick.

“You should,” Chrissie whispers into his ear, startling Jonny into almost dropping his phone. “Take me home, that is. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jonny stands up abruptly. This has decidedly been going on for too long. “Can we-” Jonny nods towards the exit while slamming a couple of dollar bills on the table that should cover more than his fair share. He supposes it would be better to have this conversation outside without too many prying ears. Unfortunately though, Chrissie and the rest of their table choose to misinterpret Jonny’s intentions quite severely once again.

Chrissie grins brightly, looping her arm around his waist while the guys hoot obnoxiously and Patrick yells out “Use protection!” ever so kindly, which has Jonny seriously contemplate blowing this whole thing right here and now, stupid bet or whatever be damned. But then again, if he’s going to leave the bar to talk with her and they already think he’s doing so to get laid he might as well let them in that belief. He’ll just explain the situation to her and apologize and then go home alone so he can reassess the life choices that led him to having to make out with a girl he isn’t attracted to in front of his teammates and future boyfriend. Except that he knows the endresult already. It’s Patrick. Patrick looking at him like that, Patrick saying ‘For me’ and Patrick talking about growing up hating himself and not being okay. ‘Cut him some slack maybe’ future Patrick had said and well, if that means that Jonny’s got to be a bit uncomfortable for a couple of hours and having to let down some girl then that’s just how it is. If it helps Patrick feeling better about himself and the phone sex with Jonny, Jonny guesses it’s okay. Even if it’s a kind of shady version of okay.

They push their way out of the building and in the process Chrissie slips her hand from his waist into the back pocket of his jeans, cheekily squeezing his ass.

“Chrissie, listen,” Jonny says as soon as they are outside, positioning himself so they are facing each other and she has to remove her hand. He’s keeping his voice low since there are a couple of other people lurking about, some smoking some talking. “I’m sorry but-”

“My place or yours?” she cuts in, stepping closer and placing her hands on his chest, softly rubbing at the fabric. “Although my sister is staying on my couch at the moment, so your place might be better. But if you don’t mind a bit of audience…”

Jonny ignores her comment squeezing his eyes shut for a second. Just like ripping off a band aid. “I understand that I have been giving you the wrong signals, leaving you under the impression that I am-” he pauses, taking a deep breath and glancing at her. “I’m sure you are a wonderful person and I did really enjoy my evening with you, Chrissie, but I’m not interested in you in that way. I’m sorry. I will of course cover whatever you need for a cab, don’t worry about that and-”

“No.” She stares at him with her hands still on his chest, palms firmly planted against him. “No, you are not doing this to me.”

“I’m not-” Jonny stares back feeling slightly puzzled. She sounds upset as well as pissed and okay, he expected that but- “I’m not doing anything to you.” That’s like the whole point of what he’s trying to say here.

She shakes her head, anger twisting her pretty face as she gives him a shove. “No, you are taking me home. You will take me home.” The shove barely moves him –he’s so much bigger and stronger than her- but it still startles him and he takes a step back. She follows suit. “I’ve already texted my friends that I was going to get laid by Jonathan Toews tonight. I’ve spent my whole night with you, do you even know how many men at that bar would have loved to take me home?”

“I’m sorry?” Jonny repeats uneasily glancing around. She’s giving him another shove and while he doubts the people hanging around can make out anything distinctive, her raised volume is still making them look over.

 _This looks bad,_ Jonny realizes. Then: _This could look even worse._

“I can- look I’m gonna give you money for what you bought me, I’m gonna-”

“You think you can pay me?” She yells and this time he stumbles back when she shoves him “Do I look like a fucking whore to you?”

“No!” Jonny exclaims and it’s purely on instinct that he brings up his arms, catching her wrists to keep her from pushing him once more.

“Hey, he bothering you?” A guy –shorter than Jonny but much bulkier- calls over. He’s standing a couple of metres away, his arm around a woman’s shoulders who’s watching with concerned eyes, brows furrowed. Chrissie looks at them, then back at Jonny. She raises her eyebrows and bites her lip. It’s a silent question –no, a threat.

 _This looks bad_ , a voice in Jonny’s head reminds him. _This looks bad bad bad._

She slowly removes her wrists from his grip, making a show out of rubbing them. “ _Are_ you bothering me?” she whispers, voice so low only Jonny can hear.

Jonny swallows, his throat suddenly incredibly dry. “Your place,” he finds himself answering quietly her earlier question.

If he has to do this he doesn’t want to do it at home. He wants to be able to leave right after and he doesn’t want her to know where he lives, doesn’t want her in his home.

Chrissie calls something over to the concerned couple before she turns back to Jonny again and laces her arms around his neck, kissing him again. Jonny barely responds but that doesn’t seem to bother Chrissie much. She’s not in this for Jonny, he realizes. It’s for his name, his status, the bragging rights, or whatever but not for him. It’d be funny if it didn’t make him feel so sick that she’d accused him of calling her a whore when it’s now Jonny –as they are waiting for the cab- who is left feeling like one.

What he pointedly doesn’t think about the whole way back to her place is how Chrissie is going to be his first girl, his first time with a woman. The only person he’ll have had sex with that isn’t Patrick. He doesn’t think about that because if he did he thinks he’d freak out. He’d get out of the cab right now, turn on his fucking heels the second they are being dropped off in front of her apartment building and walk away from this crazy girl and this fucked up night, consequences be damned. He’d do it in an instant and for a second it feels like a good idea, now that there are no more witnesses around that she can use to twist things in her favour, but there’s still the unspoken threat between them that Jonny’s mind keeps circling around. She could say anything about him. Anything and somewhere someone on the internet or one of the sleazier reporters will believe her and then someone who saw them at the bar together and recognized Jonny will come forward and then the couple who saw their ‘fight’, saw Jonny grabbing her by the wrists pushing her back, they will-

Jonny gets home two hours later and even though he goes straight to bed after his scalding hot shower he doesn’t fall asleep until the first rays of dawn are already filtering through the blinds. Even then it’s barely more than a fitful tossing and turning from side to side. Eventually he gives up on sleep, choosing to go for a run instead. It earns him a more than irritated look from both Dayna and Seabs who are having breakfast when Jonny returns, drenched in sweat and slightly jittery from the lack of rest.

“Brent made French toast,” Dayna offers, gesturing to the set table in front of her.

Jonny shakes his head. He’s not hungry and he’s pretty much dying for a shower. More than that though Jonny can’t really look Seabs in the eyes. He’d left early last night, but he’d been there when Chrissie had slipped into the booth with them and Jonny is sure one of the guys has updated him, since they are all apparently so interested in what Jonny does with his dick. Something about that makes Jonny’s skin crawl and he’d rather just forget last night and everything that had come with it all together.

“Jon?” Dayna calls after him as he pushes past them wordlessly. “Are you alright?”

She sounds worried so Jonny pauses, trying to work up to a somewhat convincing smile. Then Seabs adds: “You look like hell, man. Sharpy said you left with some lady. When did you get home?”

“Late,” Jonny says flatly, going for the stare since a smile doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon.

Dayna and Seabs exchange a look.

“Okay, kid,” Seabs says slowly, “We’ll get off your case.”

“Thanks.” It comes out a bit too sharply even Jonny picks up on that, but Seabs chooses not to comment or call him out and somehow Jonny is insanely thankful for that. “Seabs?” he finds himself saying.

“Yes?”

Jonny hesitates, shifting from one foot to the other. “I don’t like that you guys talk about me having –or not having sex. I don’t like that you are making bets about it. I don’t- I don’t want that.”

Seabs is quiet for a moment while Dayna pointedly moves to the couch, her plate in hand turning on the TV. “I don’t know anything about any bets,” he says eventually and Jonny can tell how carefully he picks his words. “But we do talk about you. Not more than about anyone else but we do talk. Whoever said that women gossip more than men clearly has never been part of an NHL team.”

“Well, don’t.”

Seabs frowns. “Jonny, what brought this on? Did something happen with the guys last night? We are all your friends, you are our captain, we don’t mean any harm.”

“Nothing happened. It’s just nobody’s fucking business,” Jonny snaps and Seabs raises his hands in surrender.

“Hey, I can tell the guys to cut it out, but you know how it is when you tell them to not do something.”

“No, no don’t say anything. I’m sorry,” Jonny says squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, “Just- I just need the day, okay?”

Seabs looks thoughtful for a moment and Jonny worries he might ask more question but instead he just nods. “Sure, Dayna and I are invited over by Kelly-Rae and Duncs later anyway. You have the place to yourself.”

As it turns out though, Jonny doesn’t have the place to himself. Not even his own room. When he opens the door he finds Patrick –a future Patrick- snuggled into the blankets of Jonny’s bed, Jonny’s phone (which he apparently forgot here) in hand playing something that looks like the scrabble app. Jonny freezes for a second, staring at Patrick, the way his brow is lightly furrowed and a bit of tongue is peeking out as he’s putting a word on the board before looking up and catching Jonny’s gaze.

“Hey, you.” He puts Jonny’s phone down and smiles. “Morning run?”

Jonny swallows, feeling irritated with himself and how much he resents Patrick’s presence right now. He just needs the day, he just wants to be alone, needs to wrap his head around what happened last night, what he did and why. He feels like his skin doesn’t fit and Patrick is looking at him so fondly and it makes Jonny think about Patrick pushing Jonny last night saying ‘For me’ and ‘please’ and that’s not fair, it’s not fair because ultimately Jonny still got himself into that situation that led to him going home with Chrissie, but-

“I need a shower,” he says tonelessly, bypassing the bed and closing the door behind himself once he’s in the bathroom. He’s got a well-worn fantasy of him and Patrick doing it in the shower but right now he doesn’t think he could stand Patrick looking at him naked.

He doesn’t realize until he steps out of the shower, towelling himself off that he’s forgotten to take clean clothes with him so he has to walk back into his room with only a towel wrapped around himself. Patrick looks up when Jonny comes in but otherwise doesn’t react in any way, just watches as Jonny slips into an old UND shirt and boxer shorts before crawling into bed next to him. It’s then that he puts Jonny’s phone away, studying Jonny’s face.

“What’s up with you?” he asks but Jonny just shakes his head.

“I just want to sleep,” he tells him and Patrick nods, gesturing for Jonny to scoot closer. He wraps his arms around him then and Jonny breathes out a sigh of relief, feeling some of the tension he’s been carrying around since last night seep out of him.

This time it’s easier to fall asleep. Jonny’s bed doesn’t feel so big and he’s surrounded by Patrick’s scent and his warmth and by some miracle it’s all still there when Jonny wakes up what must be at least two hours later, if the level of sunlight coming through the window is anything to go by. It’s a soft light and it makes Patrick’s blonde curls glow almost golden, framing his face. He’s been reading one of Jonny’s books, is holding it with one hand while the other is still wrapped around Jonny, his thumb absently rubbing circles on Jonny’s back. Jonny blinks at him sleepily and either he’s made some sort of noise or Patrick’s Spidey senses have been tingling because he turns his head, making eye contact.

“You are still here,” Jonny mumbles pressing his face into Patrick’s side.

“Looks like it,” he replies, moving to put the book away. “You gonna tell me what’s up with you? I know that it’s summer 2008 but I don’t remember fucking up too badly apart from that phone call so I think you need to give me some hints…”

Jonny sighs and doesn’t answer, hiding his face against Patrick.

“What did he do?” Patrick adds after a moment and that has Jonny glance up, meeting Patrick’s eyes. He’s got his eyebrows drawn together and lips in a thin line and –no. Jonny shakes his head because no, present Patrick hasn’t done anything. He hasn’t fucked up. Jonny just managed to manoeuvre himself in a shitty situation and has had to deal with the consequences. It’s not fair to blame Patrick for that. It’s not.

“Nothing,” he mumbles but he can tell by the way Patrick raises his eyebrows that he’s not buying it for one second.

“Jonny.”

“Nothing,” Jonny repeats, but the way his voice breaks gives away how very much not nothing it is. He feels sick just thinking about it, going back to her place, letting her kiss him, watching her wiggle out of her jeans, taking off her underwear, touching her, her hand in his pants-

“Just-” he begins, meaning to finish with _Just leave it, let’s watch a movie, let’s not talk, let’s ignore me being weird, I just need a day_ , but his body betrays him and before he knows it he’s tearing up and Patrick’s eyes go wide before scrambling into motion, trying to keep Jonny from pulling away and averting his eyes.

“Jonny, hey, hey. Shit,” he gives up on trying to force Jonny to make eye contact and instead pulls him into a hug. “Hey, c’mon now. What’s up?”

“Don’t.” Jonny tries pushing him off and despite the minimal force he manages. Patrick lets go immediately confusion written all over his face.

“Talk to me. What’s going on with you?”

“I just- I don’t- I’m so fucking confused.” Jonny rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “I just don’t get what the fuck you want from me.”

“Mini-me?” Patrick urges him on, hands hovering awkwardly a few centimetres away from Jonny, like Patrick needs to touch but isn’t sure if it’s welcome.

“Yes, mini-you. You- He-” Jonny forces his voice to be more even if not by much. “You fucking have phone sex with me and then you ignore me and then you push me to hook up with some woman in a bar and I- I just don’t-”

“That’s what this is about? You and a woman?” Patrick asks carefully and this time when he reaches out Jonny lets him, allows him to place a hand on Jonny’s forearm.

“You wanted me to fuck her, Patrick.”

“Yeah, and you did.” Patrick says slowly, frowning slightly. “She was… It was after the convention, right?”

“Yes, I did,” Jonny confirms, pressing his lips into a tight line. “I went home with her.”

“So… you are upset about that?” Patrick asks, “Because you know even if I can get jealous sometimes it’s not cheating, okay? I’m not mad at you. I’ve told you that before, this is your life and we aren’t together yet so you can fuck all the guys and girls you want, it’s-”

“I didn’t _want_ to fucking fuck her.” Jonny snaps and the tears are back again and he hates that so much. “I didn’t want to and she got so mad and she kept pushing me and I couldn’t do anything because there were people around and do you even know how that would have looked and she- I didn’t-”

“I-” Patrick just stares at Jonny, his hand twitching where it’s still on Jonny’s arm. He looks completely blindsided, “Jonny what-”

“I went home with her and I slept with her and it shouldn’t be such a fucking big deal but I just feel so-” Jonny feels like yanking his own hair, barely able to bear the way Patrick is looking at him right now. “I just feel so _wrong_ and I don’t get it. It was just sex.”

“Jonny…” Patrick says tonelessly but when Jonny looks up he’s staring off somewhere into space.

“I hope that bet was worth it,” he says bitterly.

Patrick’s eyes snap back to Jonny. “What b-” he cuts himself off, then: “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I…” Patrick shifts and if he looked shocked and confused before he looks downright guilty now. “There’s no bet, Jonny. It was… He- I lied.”

And the thing is it’s never been about the bet, not really, it’s just been a background noise, so it shouldn’t hit Jonny like it does that it’s been a lie, it’s been nothing, just Patrick getting Jonny to do what he wants because in that had made him feel better in some fucked up way, but now Jonny is left feeling like crap and it’s nobody’s fucking fault he gets that, he does but it’s still-

Jonny just turns around pulling the covers up to his chin, choosing to stare at the wall, instead of Patrick, while he takes in shaky breaths, waiting for himself to stop feeling like this, so confused and ashamed. To just get over it.

“Jonny…” Patrick whispers. Jonny wishes he wouldn’t. “What… what happened with that girl?”

“I told you I slept with her,” Jonny answers mechanically, pressing his eyes shut, the same moment that Patrick gets off the bed, and kneels on the floor in front of Jonny so that Jonny -if he wants to avoid him- would have to turn on his other side again.

“You said you didn’t want to? That she got mad…”

“What was I supposed to do?” Jonny mumbles, glancing at Patrick’s concerned face, “She was-”

He doesn’t really know what to say, how to explain how powerless and cornered he had felt, how going home with her had felt like the only real option. She hasn’t even said anything. She’d never threatened him and he could have pushed her off, she never- He’s got over 30kg on her, he plays a sport for a living where physical fights are pretty much part of the routine. She never-

“I don’t know, I don’t know, okay? I just-” He glances at Patrick, the storm of emotions in his eyes. “I could have said no. To her. To you and that stupid bet. I could have said fuck it but I didn’t and then I went home with her and- I just wish I hadn’t.”

“Jonny…” Patrick whispers almost tonelessly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Jonny’s forehead. “You don’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to do, okay? No matter who’s asking. Even if it’s me.”

“You didn’t-”

“I know, baby. Just- With that girl… you say you didn’t want to…” Patrick hesitates, licking his lips like he isn’t quite sure what to say, “…you say you could have said no, but… but if you could have I think you would have. That’s- That’s not okay. And I’m so fucking sorry it happened to you.”

Jonny wants to interrupt him, tell him that nothing happened _to_ Jonny, but somehow his mouth won’t open and Patrick keeps talking.

“And I’m so sorry that I pushed her on you and that you felt like you had to –for me- and that-” It’s Patrick who cuts himself off, exhaling shakily, his eyes suspiciously wet. “I didn’t… I didn’t know. You’ve never told me that something happened that night. That it wasn’t just a hook up.”

“It _was_ just a hook up,” Jonny insists weakly.

Patrick shakes his head. “A hook up isn’t supposed to make you feel this way. And I think you know that, Jonny.”

“But it was just a hook up,” Jonny repeats, desperation breaking his voice. “It was just-”

“It’s okay,” Patrick cuts him off, his mouth twisted into a pained smile that doesn’t match the single tear that has slipped down his cheek. He cups Jonny’s cheek, gently brushes his thumb over his skin. “It’s okay, Jonny. You’re okay.” He presses a soft kiss to Jonny’s temple then. “You’re okay.”

But Jonny doesn’t feel okay and maybe whatever cosmic force that makes Patrick travel to Jonny knows that because he stays, he stays the whole day. They spent a few more hours in bed, Jonny dozing in and out of consciousness and every time he blinks up Patrick is still there. He gets up some time afternoon ordering them some take out and they migrate to the living room, watching some TV while they wait for their food. They don’t talk, not really but it still helps, so it doesn’t feel like much of a lie when Jonny tells Seabs that he’s feeling better, when he calls some time in the afternoon asking how Jonny is feeling.

“I told David about us,” Jonny says out of the blue when they are half way through ’50 first dates’ (Patrick’s choice, Seabs DVD), because he wants to talk but he doesn’t want to talk about Chrissie and somehow this pops into his head.

Patrick looks surprised. “You did? I mean, what did he- What did he say?”

“He’s cool with it.”

“He-” Patrick stares at him, evidently utterly confused. “ _What_? David. Your bother. You told him. And he’s- He’s cool with-” he gestures between Jonny and himself. “You and me?”

“I mean…” Jonny shifts. “I didn’t tell him that it’s you and me. Just that there’s a guy and …yeah.”

“Ooh.” Patrick smiles. “Well, that’s great, Jonny.”

“…yeah. It is,” Jonny says slowly. Patrick bites his lip and looks away too quickly. “Why the surprise?”

“No surprise,” Patrick says quickly with a smile as he leans in to press a kiss to Jonny’s cheek. “You want some snacks?”

“No, I…” Jonny frowns. “Is David not cool with you and me? Because it kind of sounded like-”

“Jonny.”

“I know, I know. You can’t tell me anything. But if my brother-”

“Look, Jonny,” Patrick sighs, rubbing his chin. He looks tired. “I don’t actually know everything. I know bits and pieces. Just take today, I didn’t know that this happened to you. Mini-me went home from that bar and went on with his life and his shitty reasoning and the memory of you leaving with that gorgeous looking lady and I didn’t think much of it for years all while you- I’m twenty-nine years old and I only just found out that my boyfriend got raped ten years ago.” He pauses, probably because Jonny has opened his mouth to argue over that word because –no, but no words actually make it out so Patrick continues, “I know jackshit, Jonny. I don’t and what I know I shouldn’t tell you, because the good and the bad it’s all so-”

“It’s okay,” Jonny cuts when he finally finds his words, “Don’t tell me. It’s okay. You are here. That’s- That’s enough.”

Patrick swallows, putting his arms around Jonny’s neck so he can lean their foreheads together. “I wish I could do more,” he whispers. “I wish I could find that girl and make her hurt. And wish I could tell you that David is okay with you and me and I wish I could tell you that mini-me gets his shit together tomorrow and that one day- but I can’t and I hate that so much.”

“Maybe,” Jonny says quietly, keeping his eyes closed, feeling Patrick’s breath on his face. “Maybe wanting to, will just have to be enough for us? Maybe it’s… maybe it’s gotta be enough for now.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything and just kisses Jonny.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter despite the slightly darker themes. Please leave a comment and just let me know what you think :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo are you guys rady for a happy chapter?  
> I think we deserved one after the last, don't we?

 

 

 

**_ October 2008, Jonny is 20 and Patrick is 19 _ **

 

The rest of summer goes by quickly and once the preseason rolls around in late September Jonny has started mostly feeling like himself again. He doesn’t know if Seabs has said anything to the guys or if they’ve just moved on on their own but none of them try to make him hook up again when the team goes out. Maybe though, it’s just because Jonny makes a point out being busy with getting to know the rookies, making them feel welcome and integrated into the team. That might be one of the few perks of being a young captain –he remembers being a rookie, how intimidating and overwhelming it can be and how much each of these young guys are itching to prove themselves. Giving them guidance and an open ear seems like the right call and Jonny is determined to not let down the team or the people who chose him to be captain.

The Hawks win five of their preseason games and lose three –two in OT- and Jonny feels pretty good about the team and their chances even though he can’t shake the feeling of something being off, that they aren’t quite clicking right. It’s something about their play, the system in place. He hasn’t noticed it as much last season, too busy being a rookie, being injured, and fighting for the Calder, but now he feels like he’s got a bit of perspective and things are –they are good. Jonny just knows they could be better. But it’s nothing more than a feeling so Jonny shakes it off and focusses on playing the best hockey he can and leading this team the best way he knows and shutting personal shit out. And then the first three games are losses, Rangers, Caps, and Preds all beating them and even though they finally win the fourth, against -Arizona on home ice-, Jonny doesn’t feel the relief and excitement he can see on his teammates’ faces. He can’t quite figure out why but as it turns out he doesn’t have to. The next day before morning skate Bowman and some guys from the front office hold them back in the locker room for an announcement.

“The difficult but as we believe necessary decision has been made to part ways with our head coach Denis Savard.” They say and Jonny gets it, it makes sense, but his heart still breaks a little when he sees the confusion on many of the guys’ faces, the absolute devastation on Patrick’s. He knows Patrick liked their coach, even considered him a friend so he gets how that might hit him hard. “As of now Joel Quenneville will function as the team’s new head coach. We expect nothing but the best performance from you under him.”

Jonny tears his eyes away from Patrick’s expression and focusses on Bowman. “Of course,” he says, using his captain voice to speak for the team and a few of the more experienced players –mostly those who’ve been here for Savard replacing Yawney- mumble their agreement. This is hockey, this is business. No matter how much some of them might have liked their old head coach there is no space for it on the ice and in the locker room. They’ve got a job to do and Jonny gets that.

He gets a nod in return and a dismissing handwave. “That’s all for now. Get on the ice, boys. Q will meet you there in a short moment.”

As soon as their GM and the front office staff are out of the room the murmuring from before rises up into full volume discussions, half shouted through the locker room or quietly exchanged with your stall neighbour. Patrick is eerily quiet.

“Hey, buddy.” Jonny says, sitting down next to him, “How are you holding up?”

Patrick glances at him and gives a tiny shrug. “I’m fine. ‘s hockey.”

“I know.” Jonny says. He knows that Patrick knows that, and that he tries to be professional but sometimes his emotions just get the best of him. Jonny really hates how small Patrick looks, despite him squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, trying to put on a brave face. It’s one of the things Jonny really loves about Patrick, how deeply he cares about his family and his friends. How hard shit like this hits him. He should be allowed to feel those things, to be sad and angry, but they are expected to be on the ice in a few minutes and perform under a guy that was brought in to replace Patrick’s friend and that’s not really fair. It’s hockey, but it’s not fair.

“Still. He was your friend.” Jonny says quietly, but again Patrick just shrugs before getting up, running his hand over his face.

“Fuck. We gotta get going, Tazer.” He gently kicks Jonny’s shin. “Don’t wanna be late for the first training with Mr. Moustache, huh?”

He’s aiming for a joke, a way to diffuse the situation and maybe that’s the right call right now, so Jonny lets it go for the moment.

Practice goes as well as expected with everyone trying to adjust to the new coach and Jonny knows that he should probably have a talk with the guys and he makes a mental note to do so but Patrick still looks so upset, even more so after his post-practice interview with the media (which in Jonny’s opinion shouldn’t have been allowed in the first place. Not before they’ve been briefed by PR for answers). In hindsight Jonny should have expected them to go after Patrick since he’s known to be wearing his heart on his sleeve. That combined with his known friendship with their former Coach had made him a field day for the press.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asks on a whim, leaning against Patrick’s stall, watching him stuffing his training gear into his bag.

Patrick pauses briefly before shaking his head, resuming his packing. “Nah. I dunno I’m not really in the mood for the movies today. I know I said we’d go, but I just…” He looks at Jonny again. “This sucks. I’m probably not good company today.”

“I know. That’s okay.” Jonny says, rubbing his neck. “I meant out of Chicago. Let’s just get in the car and drive. Get out of here for a while. We’ve got today, we’ve got tomorrow…” he shrugs. Their next game is in St. Louis on the 18th with the plane leaving Chicago after morning skate. “Let’s go somewhere.”

Patrick’s mouth hangs slightly open for a couple of seconds as he’s staring at Jonny’s face, probably trying to determine if Jonny is fucking with him or not. “Where? Where would we go?” He asks cautiously, but even though he hasn’t said yes to the spontaneous trip yet Jonny already counts it as a win, because instead of sad Patrick looks thoughtful and that’s something at least.

He sort of gets Patrick’s surprise and hesitance. Jonny isn’t exactly known to be a spontaneous person nor would he describe himself as such. He doesn’t like surprises. He likes to plan things, likes to be in control, so he’s kind of out of his depth here, but he’s adjusted his life around random time travel visits, he thinks he can do a spur-of-the-moment road trip. If Patrick is up for it, that is.

“Where ever you want to go.” He says easily.

“I… Can I think about it?”

“Sure.” Jonny says, trying to not let himself feel disappointed. It’s okay, if Patrick doesn’t want to. It was just a stupid idea to cheer him up, distract him from his friend and Coach getting fired, it has nothing to do with _them_. Jonny’s been too busy dealing with his own issues the second half of the summer to really think about how him and present Patrick are still no step closer to being together, partially because even when it came the future Patricks that have visited Jonny in the weeks following the convention, Jonny had struggled being close to them. He’d been fine with kissing and cuddling but apart from that Jonny had found himself unable to really clear his head enough to want to have sex with Patrick, the thing with Chrissie still too present. In his head Jonny always refers to it as ‘the thing’ even though Patrick had called it by a different name and Jonny’s done some research –stumbled upon terms like coercion- finding himself agreeing, he struggles to really connect the word with what had happened that night, that it had happened to him.

He’s been avoiding thinking about any Patrick in that context –Patrick and sex- too easily reminded of him introducing Jonny to Chrissie, asking him to take her home. Jonny knows it’s stupid and he doesn’t blame Patrick, but right now he’s very glad that this Patrick is just his best friend and nothing else. And that alone is a strange thought.

Getting out of Chicago for a day might not just be good for Patrick.

“I mean where.” Patrick says suddenly, pulling Jonny back out of his own head. He doesn’t know what his face had showed but somehow Patrick apparently feels the need to reassure Jonny. “I mean I’ll think about where we could go. Pick me up in an hour and I’ll know, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jonny says, finding himself smiling. “Yeah okay.”

 

***

 

“I want to see a Lighthouse.” Patrick says when he slips into the passenger seat of Jonny’s car, duffel bag already thrown into the trunk. “I really like lighthouses. My grandparents and I used to visit those a lot when I was a kid.”

Jonny nods, mentally going through the possible options they have in daytrip distance. “Any specific lighthouses or just…”

“Any is fine.” Patrick shrugs, then: “I mean they should be pretty.”

“Obviously,” Jonny says with a smirk that earns him a punch to the shoulder. “What do you think about Door County?” he asks then as he backs out of his parking spot.

Patrick pulls a face. “Where’s that? Next to window island and roof city? I said Lighthouses, Jonny. Not doors.”

“Honestly for someone who claims to love ‘ _Murrica_ ’ so much-” Jonny shoots him a disapproving look. “-you know remarkably little about your country. Door County is in Wisconsin. And it has Lighthouses.” Jonny honestly isn’t sure why there were travel magazines lying out in his dentists waiting room but now he’s kind of thankful for it. The way Patrick’s eyes light up is priceless.

“Oh. That’s neat.”

“Yep. So buckle in, Peeks. We’ve got roughly 250 miles of road ahead of us.”

And just like that they leave Chicago behind, heading North on the I 94 and while it drives Jonny slightly mad how Patrick flicks between radio stations every other song, it’s also quite endearing how amused he seems to be by Jonny’s obvious annoyance. Jonny notices though how Patrick always deliberately stops at stations once he notices a song that Patrick knows Jonny likes, so he guesses it’s a compromise. _Patrick’s_ music taste though is of course all kinds of awful and when Patrick starts loudly trying to rap along to Ice Cube’s ‘You can do it’ Jonny uses his Veto aka _‘This is my car and I’m driving so I pick the music suck it up’_ which has Patrick sulk almost all the way to Milwaukee, where they take a half an hour break, eating Burgers and trying to look the least like themselves they can in hope of no fans spotting them. They are only semi-successful, but after three pictures and a couple of more signed shirts they get on the road again, switching to the I 43, continuing to making their way north.

They’ve just passed Glendale when Patrick –while Katy Perry lilts about how she hopes her boyfriend doesn’t mind- finally starts talking.

“I don’t get it, you know?” he says. When Jonny glances over he’s staring out of the window, watching the landscape fly by. “I think we were doing okay. I mean sure, yeah, kind of a rocky start to the season, but it’s only been four games. Shouldn’t-” he pauses, probably to lick his lips, “Shouldn’t it be the bigger picture that matters?”

Jonny clears his throat and moves to dial down the radio’s volume a bit. “I think that’s what they are looking at. The bigger picture.”

“And what’s that? Savvy doesn’t fit?” Patrick makes a displeased sound. A look in the rearview mirror reveals that he’s frowning too. “That’s bullshit. He’s part of this rebuild. He’s supposed to get us to the playoffs. He would have-”

“Maybe.” Jonny cuts him off, pushing down the pedal as they pass a semi. “But maybe Quenneville is still the better choice. Give him a chance. He’s done a lot of great work for the Avalanche and the Blues.”

“Screw you,” Patrick snaps. “Savvy was my friend and he deserved fucking better than this.”

“I know.” Jonny nods calmly. It takes another 80 miles for Patrick to get over himself.

“I mean-” he starts again -completely out of the blue. “If I had played better, if we had tried harder and maybe won against the Preds and if-”

“I don’t think that would have changed anything, Patrick,” Jonny says honestly. “Of course our performance factored into the decision but I think there are also things that they don’t share with us players and if they wanted to get rid of Savvy they would have found a way. Win or lose.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that there’s nothing you or I or any of the guys could have done.” Jonny says, carefully glancing briefly over to Patrick before focussing back on the road, hands firmly on the steering wheel. Jonny likes driving, has always liked it, especially out on highways and the country, away from metropolitan city traffic. There’s nothing quite like open road. Except maybe open ice. “Sure, it’s a dick move that they did this now instead of during the summer, but …that’s hockey.”

“I know but-” Patrick starts sounding frustrated.

“I know, you are going to miss him.” Jonny cuts in. “And that’s okay.” He glances over to find Patrick already looking at him, lip caught between his teeth. It’s bitten red. He blindly reaches over and pokes Patrick in the cheek.

Patrick yelps and swats Jonny’s hand away, but he giggles a bit too so Jonny smiles to himself. “He’s a cool dude,” Patrick says.

“Yeah.” He agrees. “But not a good head coach.”

“What?”

“I’m… I mean…” Jonny scratches his head with one hand, frowning against the sun before Patrick flicks the sun shade down for him. “As I see it, one of our main problems last season has been a lack of structure and an a bit too heavy emphasis on the defence. Which is great –don’t get me wrong- especially for Duncs and Seabs and Hammer, but we’ve got to improve on our forecheck and puck possession and Savvy isn’t the right guy to get us there. As much as I like him. We need system. We need offence.”

“And you think Quenneville can do that?” Patrick doesn’t sound mad anymore. Just thoughtful and maybe a little sad too.

“I think he might, yeah.” Jonny replies firmly. When Patrick doesn’t answer Jonny glances over finding him staring out of the window again. “Hey,” Jonny bumps his fist against Patrick’s shoulder. “You are still allowed to be sad about it.”

“No. No, you are right.” Patrick argues, “It’s- I can be a grown up about this.”

Jonny is quiet for a moment. “You can be a grown up and still be sad about shit like this.”

He can feel Patrick’s eyes on him, but keeps his eyes firmly on the road. For some reason his heartbeat is picking up.

 

“Okay,” Is all Patrick says, but he already sounds a little more upbeat.

 

***

 

They stop in a tiny town called Baileys Harbor. It’s late afternoon and Patrick has been complaining about not having seen any lighthouses yet for about an hour even though he looks fairly content while doing so, chewing on some candy that Jonny is pretty sure isn’t on their diet plan.

“You’ve promised me lighthouses, Jonny,” Patrick says. “I’m experiencing a severe lack of lighthouses here.”

Jonny rolls his eyes. While Patrick has been in the restroom at their last stop Jonny has used the opportunity to get some information from the cashier and he’s pretty sure that he’ll get Patrick to stop complaining pretty soon, but he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise so he just shrugs and points at a souvenir shop that coincidently has an array of postcards in its window that almost all show some sort of lighthouse.

It earns him a punch in the shoulder.

“C’mon, Jonny. Where are we going?” Patrick demands to know when Jonny leads them back to the car. “Tell me, man.”

“Just wait. Jesus, you are worse than a toddler.”

“Fuck you, toddler me was a fucking delight.” Patrick argues, but gets into the car, while Jonny is momentarily distracted by the fact that Patrick would fucking know, since he’s met his toddler self quite literally. He frowns a little when they leave the town again, driving north through some woods until his eyes light up and he tugs at Jonny’s arm excitedly. “Jonny, look.” He says, pointing ahead where there’s a white brick lighthouse emerging above the green trees.

Jonny smiles. “Told you.”

“Yes.” Patrick grins. “Yes, you did.”

Jonny’s barely pulled the emergency break and turned off the engine when Patrick is already out of the car, eyes transfixed on the lighthouse, head titled back. “C’mon, Jonny.” He says, waving for Jonny without looking back. “It’s still open. I wanna go up. We can go up, right?”

They go up. Jonny’s made sure to pick a lighthouse that’d be open late for that exact purpose. Walking such a narrow spiral staircase makes Jonny feel kind of dizzy, but he bites through following Patrick up the stairs until they finally reach the top and step out on the go around balcony thing (that Jonny just now realizes he has now clue how it’s called) finding themselves faced with the beautiful view of the sun setting in the incredibly clear water that’s stretched out before them, hitting the rocky shore in soft waves.

“This is incredible,” Patrick says first excitedly, calling Jonny over from where he’s been hovering at the door, then more quietly, more like a whisper again: “This is incredible, Jonny.”

He turns around then, a soft mile on his face that shows of his dimples. His hair is glowing in the light of the setting sun and Jonny is overcome with the overwhelming urge to touch. He takes a tentative step closer and Patrick rolls his eyes, grabbing Jonny’s arm and pulling him forward to the railing. “What are you afraid of heights?”

“No. Of you.” Jonny says and after a second Patrick laughs.

“I’m not gonna push you off, don’t worry. Even though you’d deserve it for not allowing me any Ice Cube.”

“My car, my rules.” Jonny replies quietly, having to look away because the way Patrick’s blue eyes look in this light is making his chest feel tight.

Patrick hums something nonsensical in response and turns back to the railing, eyes in the distance.

“Jonny…” he says after a while, shooting Jonny a quick glance.

“Mh?”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Jonny swallows. “You don’t have one either.”

“Yeah, but… I hook up. You don’t except for-”

“Why is it such a big deal?” Jonny cuts in, sitting down, back against the white brick of the lighthouse while Patrick remains at the railing. “I don’t want to. That’s all. I don’t want a girlfriend. And I don’t want to hook up. It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s not a big deal. I just think you’d… You seem like the kind of guy who’d like being in a relationship.” Patrick says.

“I am.” Jonny says truthfully, squinting at Patrick. It’s hard to make out any distinctive features now that the sun has almost completely disappeared. “What about you?”

“Me?” Patrick laughs, but it doesn’t sound joyous, more confused than anything else. “I don’t know what kind of guy I am.”

Jonny is quiet for a moment, then –feeling brave and maybe a little bit stupid: “I think you do know.” Jonny gets up on his feet and takes the half step over to Patrick. Now it’s Patrick looking up at Jonny. “And I think you wish you didn’t.”

For a few moments the two of them just stare at each other and the only sound between them is the wind and the waves hitting the shore many meters below them. Maybe Jonny just imagines it but he thinks he sees Patrick swallow, his eyes flickering over Jonny’s face. He bites his lip.

“Thank you for taking me here.” Patrick whispers, his voice just a little bit raspy. He reaches up, like he’s going to straighten the collar of Jonny’s flannel shirt, but instead his fingers brush over the sliver of Jonny’s (Patrick’s) necklace peeking out around his neck. It’s just the briefest of touches but it makes Jonny shiver. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Jonny breathes. “Yeah it is.”

The moment lasts for another ten seconds and Jonny feels each with a hammering heartbeat, but then Patrick takes a step back, running a hand through his hair and the spell is broken. “I- We should probably- We should go look for a motel, right?”

“Uhm.” Jonny has to stop for a moment to clear his head, watching Patrick burying his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, shifting from one foot onto the other. “Yeah, I’ve already called ahead. There’s an Inn in the town where I’ve booked us two rooms.”

“Cool.” Patrick nods to himself. “Cool. Cool. We should-”

He gestures towards the entrance to the staircase.

“Yeah.” Jonny agrees, clearing his throat. “I’m pretty hungry as well.”

“Right. Me too. Dude, we should totally get Pizza.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Jonny follows Patrick back into the lighthouse, taking step after step down, back to reality. “As long as you can find us one without gluten and dairy, I’m all in.”

Patrick lets out a laugh. “God, you and your princess stomach. Seriously, you are no fun. No fun at all.”

 

***

 

**_ November 2008, Jonny is 20 and Patrick turns 20 _ **

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

Jonny turns around, icepack pressed against his jaw, to frown at Patrick who’s standing in the doorway of the hotel room bathroom, arms crossed and murderous expression on his face.

“Wha-?” Jonny asks, but then thinks better of it, lowering the ice pack. “What are you on about?”

It’s late and Jonny is tired and he’s really not in the mood for any lenghty discussions. They head out to Dallas first thing in the morning and even if Jonny weren’t incapable catching any sleep on flights in general, the flight from Phoenix to Dallas is just too damn short. If Patrick insists on watching his late night trash shows again Jonny might actually smother him with a pillow. Figuratively.

“You know damn well what I’m on about, asshole.” Patrick is in front of Jonny in a few short steps, stabbing his finger against Jonny’s naked chest angrily. “You can’t pull shit like this.”

Okay, maybe Jonny didn’t really think Patrick’s outrage was about him watching TV. He would have preferred it though.

“That’s rich coming from you.” Jonny points out, putting the icepack back on his face. Of course he knows what Patrick is talking about. The game and the fucking mess it had been. It’s been fifteen minutes since they’ve returned to the hotel, tired and exhausted, having poured everything they had into scratching this barely-win off the Phoenix’ ice. Jonny’s whole body is aching.

“No, Jonny, fuck you. You don’t get to be mad at me.” Patrick shakes his head. “I may have gotten two penalties but none of them for fucking fighting.”

“Oh, please, the game was bloody to begin with. Everyone got a damn penalty, are you gonna get in their faces too? Duncs, Todd, Aaron? Let’s give them a call and have a fun group chat about this.”

The game had been brutal, from the second they had hit the ice and honestly, most of it is still a blur. All Jonny knows is that Patrick got hit by Hanzal in the first and things had escalated from there, the Hawks going up two only to give it up in the second and third, followed by a hard fought but goalless OT that lead them into a shootout. Jonny and Sharpy both scored while Khabibulin brick walled, not letting one of the Coyotes’ pucks in. They won, but it sure doesn’t feel like it. Especially not when Patrick is yelling at Jonny like Jonny personally offended him.

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” Jonny asks, unable to keep irritation out of his voice. “We play hockey. People fight.”

“But you _don’t_.” Patrick spits back at him.

Jonny grits his teeth. He’s got two unanswered texts and a couple of texts from his bother waiting on his phone most likely about the same topic Patrick is apparently throwing a huge fit about. Yes, Jonny had gotten into a fight, maybe even instigated it, but Jonny doesn’t regret it. Hanzal had it coming, simple as that. “What the hell is your problem?” Jonny gives up on trying to ice his jaw and lips, throwing the icepack into the sink. “He hit you! You could have been seriously hurt, Patrick. Your neck- It was his fault-”

“My neck is fine. And it was Tikhonov’s skate that-”

“Hanzal _hit_ you!” Jonny yells back. How is Patrick not getting that? How awful it had looked, him getting pushed over like it’s the easiest thing in the world, curling up on the ice, protectively holding his head, being so so slow to get up. What the fuck does Patrick think had the Hawks’ blood boiling even before Arizona managed to tie? Jonny isn’t proud of it, but following the hit on Patrick their play had been sloppier, angrier, a little more out of control and once he’s reflected on it he’ll probably be mad at himself but right now the memory of the pain on Patrick’s face as he got off the ice in that first period is just too fresh. Just as the sick feeling of satisfaction is that had boiled in Jonny’s stomach at delivering those punches to Hanzal. Right now he doesn’t regret it. He’s tired and he’s in pain, but he also feels good. It’s the first time in months, ever since the summer –apart from their little road trip- that Jonny feels like he was able to do something about his frustration and discomfort. Like he got a tiny bit of control back by –ironically- letting go of his control.

“I don’t want you to fight for me!” Patrick is staring at him, blue eyes, wide and wild. “I don’t _need_ you to fight for me!”

“Maybe I didn’t fucking do it for you.” Jonny snaps, shouldering his way past Patrick back into their room, where he fishes a clean shirt form his bag. “Maybe I did it for me. Maybe I did it because _I_ hated how that fucking asshole picked on you all game. Maybe it doesn’t bother you but it sure as hell fucking bothers me.” Once he’s got his shirt on Jonny turns around, finding Patrick mere feet away. He looks different here than in the harsh light of the bathroom. Softer, more tired. And also …scared? “He told me he’d make sure that you wouldn’t get up again next time.” Jonny adds, more quietly. “He said-”

“Hanzal is a piece of shit that runs his mouth on the ice.” Patrick interrupts him. “We all know that. That doesn’t mean you-”

“How can you not care?” Jonny asks, even though Patrick’s ability to shake off all the shit people spit at him on the ice with an easy smile and brilliant skill, has always been something Jonny admired. But somehow tonight had been different. Jonny had just been so mad and worried about Patrick’s neck and then the game had been so frustrating. “You know what they call you, Pat. They think just because you are small and blonde and pretty they can pick on you and call you faggot and cocksucker like it’s okay, but it’s not. And yet they get away with it and I’m sick of it. I’m fucking sick of it.”

So barely fifteen seconds into the third Jonny had snapped, he’d passed Hanzal at center ice and just grabbed him and Hanzal had nodded so they had dropped the gloves and it had felt so good, Jonny’s mind barely registering the punches to his head and ribs, to euphoric with finally doing _something_. Being able to do something. It’s not a lie when Jonny says that maybe he hasn’t done it for Patrick. He has, but not entirely. Maybe a tiny part of Jonny that is still hurting from the thing with Chrissie had also rejoiced at the opportunity to make someone hurt instead of just letting them get away.

The whole fight had barely lasted forty seconds in total, ending with Jonny above Hanzal, both lying on the ice when the refs had pulled them apart. It had been Jonny’s first fight ever since he’s made the NHL.

“I don’t want you fighting.” Patrick insists, brows drawn together and lips bitten raw.

Jonny glares at him. It’s quite hypocritical of Patrick, getting mad at Jonny for worrying about Patrick getting hit and then blowing up because he’s worried about how Jonny might have gotten hurt in his fight. It’s bullshit and Patrick knows it, judging from the look on his face.

Something about the tone of his voice reminds Jonny of future Patrick, the worry and anger, concealed by joking that it carries sometimes. When Jonny had been eleven, suffering from a concussion Patrick had visited him twice and both times he’d been upset in a way that had irritated Jonny at the time.

“Well, tough luck,” Jonny says, pulling on his shirt, trying not to wince at how the movement hurts his bruised up ribs. “Because it’s not up to you what I do.”

“Well it should be, because clearly your dumb Canadian brain isn’t developed enough for you to take care of yourself. You could have gotten seriously hurt, Jonny. You are worried about my neck? Worry about your own damn stupid head.” He stares at Jonny and when he doesn’t answer Patrick takes a step closer. For a second Jonny thinks he’s going to start jabbing his finger at him again, so he protectively turns away. Patrick stops in his tracks. “Or learn how to fucking fight. That shit was embarrassing to watch.” His words are softer now, spoken instead of snapped or yelled and Jonny almost instantly feels a bit less tense.

“I got him down.” He still argues, but even he is aware of the childish defiance in his voice.

Patrick snorts, but there’s a look in his eyes that has Jonny’s chest feel tight for a reason that has nothing to do with the bruises littering it. “Yeah, I’d rather call it falling into a horizontal hug, but keep telling yourself that, Jonny.”

 “Oh fuck you.”

“Seriously, Jonny.” He says more quietly. “I’m, fine. My neck is and so are my feelings. I don’t give a shit what some low life from Arizona says about me.” Jonny just raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. He’s secure in his sexuality –more than Patrick at least- and it still bothers him sometimes, the stuff some players throw around on the ice. “Besides,” Patrick continues, voice a bit lighter. “I think if you pull shit like this again your mom might just fly down and kill you herself.”

Jonny sighs. “She has already texted me.”

“She has already texted _me_.” Patrick pulls out his phone from his hoodie’s front pocket, causing Jonny to frown. He didn’t know his mom had Patrick’s number and vice versa. “And she’s a smart lady, so listen to her.”

When Jonny doesn’t reply Patrick sighs, and out of the corner of his eyes Jonny can see him fidgeting with his fingers. “It scares me, okay?” he mumbles eventually, causing Jonny’s head to snap up, finding Patrick staring at his bare feet on the carpet. “You fighting. What we do is dangerous enough.”

“I know that.” Jonny says slowly. “That’s not- that’s hockey.”

Patrick exhales deeply, switching from staring at the floor to blinking up at the ceiling, voice suspiciously rough. “I _know_. But what- What am I gonna do when I finally meet mini-you and I have to look you in the eyes and tell you that shit is alright when you run around here in my time with your knee all busted or fucking broken ribs or with your head all messed up because some goon smashed it into the ice one too many times?” he swallows. “How am I gonna do that, Jonny?”

It takes a second for Jonny to find his speech again. He hasn’t been aware of Patrick thinking about this –about meeting little Jonny at some point- it’s been something they’ve been both conscious of having to happen at some point but while Jonny’s never been sure how young the youngest Patrick had been (he knows early twenties but it’s hard to tell from a child’s perspective, even more looking back now), but Patrick had never seemed to show much interest, usually keen to avoid talking about future Patrick’s visiting Jonny. So it’s a little weird to hear him talk like that, not calling future Patrick _he_ but putting himself in there, talking about himself as the person that’s going to visit kid Jonny.

“I don’t know how I’d do it. Put on a smile and pretend. Evade, lie, whatever. I just-” Patrick shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“I’m…” Jonny clears his throat, all the energy form their shouting earlier, those high boiling emotions, it’s all gone and instead Jonny feels hesitant and vulnerable. He wonders if it’s that what he’s seeing in Patrick’s flickering eyes. “I’ll try not to do anymore horizontal hug falling.”

Patrick snorts softly. “Thank you. Like I said, pretty embarrassing performance. No need for any repeats.”

“You are just jealous, because I now have a fight for my highlight reel and you don’t.” Jonny chirps weakly, slowly lowering himself on his bed, painfully aware of each bruise, each aching muscle.

“Please.” Patrick waves his hand, kicking one of Jonny’s empty water bottles away from his bed and against Jonny’s foot. “I’m a lover not a fighter, everyone knows that.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Jonny internally groans as Patrick reaches for the remote control, immediately starting to flick through the channels like his life is depending on it. “If you wanted to fight you’d have to bite people’s kneecaps, you homunculus.”

He gets a pillow to the face for that, which he guesses he deserves so instead of retaliating Jonny slips underneath the covers, lazily blinking at Patrick. “You’ve got fifteen minutes, asshole. Then it’s lights out.”

“But, mom!” Patrick whines with exaggeration, “It’s not even bedtime yet and tomorrow is my birthday!”

“Exactly.” Jonny mumbles. “Tomorrow.”

 

***

 

Unlike last year they aren’t in Chicago for Patrick’s birthday. They leave for Dallas with an early flight and go straight to the practice facility, preparing for the game on the following day. Jonny for one is secretly glad that things are so different this year, them being on the road, in a city where a jacket is pretty much unnecessary during the day despite it being November, because it’s a stark contrast to how they spent it last year, in the familiar environment of Sharpy’s home, the cold of Winter Chicago surrounding them.

Sometimes Jonny still dreams about it, about Patrick being ice cold and wet with lake water, desperately heaving for air in Jonny’s arms. As Patrick’s birthday had moved closer the past weeks the dreams had increased too, getting to the point where Jonny finds himself jerking awake in their hotel room in Phoenix, only house before they leave for Dallas. He’s rattled and out of breath -almost like he’d been the one drowning and not Patrick. It takes him about half an hour of watching Patrick’s chest rise and fall in calm and even breaths to get himself together again and even then he can’t resist the need to reach out and feel the warmth of Patrick’s body himself.

Patrick doesn’t stir but he does roll over, mumbling something into his pillow and in the process almost trapping Jonny’s hand between his cheek and the mattress. It draws a tentative smile on Jonny’s face and he’s able to crawl back into his own bed, mentally going through his plan for Patrick’s birthday tomorrow.

He just hopes that Patrick doesn’t travel again.

_And if he does_ , Jonny prays, holding onto his necklace, _please let it be kind._

“Happy fucking birthday to me,” Patrick exclaims with a wide grin as Jonny blinks up blearily at Patrick who is currently kneeling above Jonny’s stomach for some reason, having woken him up by poking him in the cheek repeatedly.

Jonny groans –internally and externally-, swatting Patrick’s hand away before covering his eyes with his arms. Why the fuck Patrick can’t sleep in like a normal person is honestly beyond Jonny. They’ve still got at least an hour before they have to get to the airport (that is, if Jonny is reading his alarm clock right, which he might not be, given the mushy state his brain is in after being rudely awakened from barely half a night’s sleep). Also why the fuck Patrick deems it necessary to climb on top of Jonny to wake him is a damn mystery that comes with its own set of problems because –well. Jonny’s body apparently decided that today was a good day for an epic case of morning wood, which-

“Get the fuck of me you fucking asshole.” Jonny mumbles, keeping his arms where they are to hide the blush creeping on his face. He’s not nearly awake enough to deal with this. It messes with his head, having Patrick on top of him in bed, but not being able to pull him into a kiss, not being able grind his dick up at him, instead of awkwardly shifting, hoping that Patrick won’t notice.

“Well, aren’t you a bundle of joy in the morning.” Patrick chirps and Jonny doesn’t have the maturity to not roll his eyes at that, because duh. They’ve been rooming together on the road for over a year now, Patrick knows better than anyone how much of _not_ a morning person Jonny is.

He hops off then, and the next thing Jonny knows is one of the generic hotel mugs being shoved into his hand, containing fresh coffee, directly form the coffeemaker in their room.

“Oh.” He takes a careful sip under Patrick’s watchful eye. “Thanks.”

“So, did you get me a present?” Patrick bursts out immediately after Jonny has taken his second sip.

Honestly, what did Jonny even expect. He groans and puts down his mug. “Fuck off.” He mutters, “I gotta take a piss.” With that he swigs his legs out of the bed, shuffling in the direction of the bathroom.

“Suuure.” Patrick laughs and Jonny blushes even more. It’s not like Patrick has never seen Jonny having morning wood or vice versa. They are guys, they share a room, it happens and over the last year Jonny’s gotten good at the whole casualness of it, of not seeing this as having an erection with your boyfriend in reachable distance but as what it is. Today it’s a little different though and Jonny has the not so subtle suspicion it might have something to do with Patrick literally fucking sitting on him mere minutes ago.

“Seriously, Jonny. Did you? Did you get me a present?”

By the sound of his voice Patrick’s leaning directly against the closed bathroom door, which is not exactly following bro-etiquette which should very much apply here, since Patrick should know pretty damn well, what Jonny went in the bathroom for.

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Now, fuck the fuck off.”

Of course Jonny has gotten him a present. Sort of. But that will have to wait until they are in Dallas. And also until Jonny’s brain is a little more online and his dick a little more offline.

 

***

 

The great thing –ironically- about Dallas is, that it’s not a hockey city. Sure there are Stars fans and people who care about the sport but it’s not a city like Chicago, it doesn’t have hockey history, it doesn’t have passion for it. And while Jonny finds that sad occasionally, he’s really fucking glad about it today, because if they had been in Chicago there would have been no way for Jonny to take Patrick by the arm after practice declaring that they’ll go and see the city together and then actually doing so without them being stopped by fans at every corner.

As it is, they get the full tourist experience, making a point out of seeing all the sights and locations a Dallas guidebook Jonny had jokingly picked up in the hotel lobby, thrusting it at Patrick and declaring it Patrick’s birthday gift. Patrick however had snatched it out of Jonny’s hand and rolled with it, dragging Jonny a long for the ‘most epic Dallas tour in modern history’ to quote him directly.

It is pretty great, Jonny’s gotta admit and while he hadn’t really planned much for Patrick’s birthday there are a few things that Jonny’s got on his list, so as the afternoon drags on he steers Patrick to an ice cream parlor near Klyde Warren Park, feeling a satisfied smirk tug at his mouth as Patrick’s eyes light up.

“Ice cream in winter?” he grins brightly. “Dude, that’s awesome.”

“It’s not real winter here.” Jonny points out and nudges Patrick towards the entrance. He knows Patrick is a huge ice cream fan all through the year but he somehow gets a special kind of kick out of eating it in winter.

“That your birthday gift?” Patrick asks as they walk up to the counter, “Taking me ice cream eating?”

Jonny just shrugs noncommittally. Maybe.

Maybe there’s more though.

“What are you getting?” Patrick leans forward and studies the different flavors that are being showcased, while the shop lady waits patiently. There’s some seriously crazy shit there. It ranges from normal shit like chocolate and vanilla to Coconut Curry. “Jonny?”

“None,” Jonny says flatly.

“No, dude, c’mon.” Patrick rolls his eyes, giving Jonny’s shoulder a gentle shove. “I’m gonna take strawberry, what do you want?”

“None.” Jonny repeats. “Pat, there’s dairy in this. And god knows what else. I can’t eat that.”

“But-” Patrick frowns, while Jonny gets out his wallet and pays for Patrick’s ice cream. “But why did you take me ice cream eating then? Also c’mon, just once. Don’t you think it’d be okay? It’s not like you are gonna drop dead from a little bit of dairy.”

Jonny just shrugs. “Because you love ice cream. Also yes, it might not kill me but a year ago I’ve basically puked every day and I was pretty much pre-diabetic so I’m not gonna fuck around with my nutrition. Sorry.”

Patrick tilts his head slightly, dragging his tongue over his ice cream, while furrowing his brows, which in itself looks as cute as it looks dumb, making Jonny’s chest feel warm. “There’s gotta be special ice cream though, right? For special little snowflakes like you and your-” he gestures dismissively to Jonny’s abdomen. “Next time we get some of that fun free ice cream.”

“Next time? You mean on your next birthday? You want to spend your twenty-first birthday eating ice cream with me?” Jonny raises his eyebrows while Patrick pulls a face.

“Damn. Right, okay, then your birthday. I’m going to take you to some hipster special foods ice cream place. There.”

Jonny snorts. “Sure.” The thing is, Jonny knows Patrick cares and he knows that in this moment Patrick means it, but he also knows that Patrick is just plain out horrible at remembering birthdays and Jonny’s is no exception. This year Patrick had called three days too late, apologizing profoundly and Jonny had waved it off. Sure he’d been a bit disappointed, but future Patrick had dropped by for a couple of hours, very successfully taking Jonny’s mind off it.

“I will!” Patrick protests, lazily licking at his ice cream as he strolls out of the parlor alongside Jonny. “I swear on my necklace.”

“Oh, you mean this one?” Jonny hooks his thumb under the thin gold chain dangling the cross in Patrick’s face. Patrick just flips him off with a smile.

 

***

 

They end up on a bench in the park. It’s a nice place, a path seamed by trees on both sides and spanned by several white archs with round lights hanging off them. Patrick has finished his ice cream by now and they’ve been talking about the game tomorrow and how the Stars have been looking this season for a while now. Jonny has pointedly not mentioned how his ribs still ache from yesterday’s fight and Patrick has pointedly bitten his tongue when Jonny’s said something about not taking stupid penalties, which Jonny is thankful for. As expected he feels kind for stupid now, looking back on his behavior from yesterday, but there’s also more, a strange kind of warmth, left over from the realization that Patrick had been upset because he’d been scared _for_ Jonny, because he’s been thinking about kid Jonny and how he’d act around him, what he could and should say. It’s something familiar and something that has hope flare up in Jonny’s heart.

“Where do you travel?” Jonny asks after a few moments of comfortable silence. “The most, I mean.”

Patrick makes a surprised noise, turning to face Jonny. “Don’t you know?”

“Well,” Jonny scratches his head. It still throws him off sometimes when he’s presented with Patrick and his relationship to his future selves and how Jonny is caught in between. For some reason Patrick seems surprised whenever Jonny doesn’t know something even though he knows about the rules future Patrick has about telling shit. “I know you travel to me a lot, but that obviously hasn’t happened for you yet. So I’m asking you.”

“Oh.” Patrick leans back a little stretching out his legs. “To younger me’s mostly,” he explains. “Or… places where I’ve been before. Or…” He hesitates, shooting Jonny a glance. He’s been happy and relaxed all day and while that hasn’t changed yet he seems a little more alert, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I think sometimes it’s places where I _will_ be one day. Like that Chicago apartment with the photograph of my sisters.”

“Hanging out with mini-you.” Jonny smiles fondly. There’s something inherently adorable about the image of Patrick interacting with a teeny tiny child version of himself. “How’s that?”

“Depends. When I was a kid I really liked getting visited by older me’s, because I…. I guess it was nice having someone understand, you know?” he glances at Jonny again. “Someone who was like me. I mean he _is_ me but-”

“I get it,” Jonny says quietly. “He made you feel less alone. He’s good at that.”

He’s also good at the opposite too, even if that has never been his intention, Jonny knows that. Future Patrick has apologized so often, expressed his grief over making Jonny lonely by default, by giving him this secret. But Patrick doesn’t need to hear that, not when he’s like this, actually willing to talk about his time travelling and older selves without malice and anger.

“It’s kind of interesting being on the other side of things now.” Patrick continues after a moment, after giving Jonny a smile, albeit a slightly confused one. “Past me is really sweet to me. I mean, also pretty damn annoying, but- Well, I’m living those things twice and that’s so weird. It’s like-” he pauses for a moment, “You know Reading a book where they give you different point of views to the same thing only that all of them are you. There’s been moments that I didn’t understand when I was a kid. I didn’t understand why older me would do that, say that, but now it’s me doing those things and it’s- It starts making sense.”

“That’s good though, isn’t it?” Jonny asks, wondering if one day Patrick will look back on them –him and Jonny- and find things making sense. He wonders if one day he’ll be able to talk to him about it, about how it felt loving him and not being known by him, he wonders if Patrick will take that information and look back and have things click into place. He wonders what he will think of it.

“I don’t know.” Patrick answers quietly. “I do something and then I realize that it’s what older me did before and now I know why but it’s still… It’s not my choice. I’m just doing what he did before me.”

Jonny swallows. “But it’s still you. You making the choice.”

“Is it though?” Patrick says then immediately laughs, softly, almost silent, shaking his head at himself. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a dick.”

“You aren’t.” Jonny says but he can feel the change in atmosphere, and that’s not- That’s not what Jonny meant to do threading up this conversation. “What’s your favorite travel memory?” he asks after a moment, because as much as this Patrick resents older versions of himself he has just admitted to having liked them as a kid so it couldn’t have been all bad, the travelling. “Hanging out with little Patrick?”

“Mh…” Patrick cranes his head back staring at the sky above them for a second. “My favorite?”

Jonny nods even though Patrick isn’t even looking at him. Until he is, that is.

“Okay, I got one. It’s a bit weird though,” he warns with a glint in his eyes. Jonny shrugs. He’s not really a stranger to weird. “So it was actually just last year,” Patrick begins, “after we had that fight about me telling Sharpy without you.”

Jonny nods. “I remember. You got into my face about calling coach back to take the A and then-”

“Then I travelled.” Patrick picks up. “I appeared in some hospital corridor and I was like fuck shit confused of course and there was a nurse chasing me because she thought I sneaked out of the psych ward. I mean, I can’t blame her, I ran around the place stark naked and confused for the first few minutes.” He pauses to wiggle his eyebrows at Jonny, who rolls his eyes, but nudges him in silent request to continue. Jonny really loves the way Patrick tells stories –the way all versions of him do- animatedly and enthusiastically, getting really into it, with body and voice.

“Shit. You ran?” he comments.

“Hell yeah, I ran. Thank god there was some dude puking his guts out in the halls. That kinda got her held up and I managed to escape. I stole some random scrubs from a laundry basket, which I know- gross, but you know beggars, choosers, blabla.”

“I don’t envy you.” Jonny allows graciously causing Patrick to laugh. He enjoys this, Jonny realizes, Patrick enjoys talking about travelling right now and that in itself is new and …nice. It’s nice because Patrick’s travelling is such an important thing to Jonny and it brought him so much happiness and comfort over the years and most of all love and it’s so unfair in a bewildering way that for Patrick it hasn’t been. For Patrick it has been an inconvenience, it had been dangerous and the source of pain and anger in a way that Jonny has yet to fully grasp. “That’s not all though. Being chased by a nurse while being naked and wearing dirty scrubs is not your favorite travelling memory.”

“Well, what if it is? What if it’s my fetish?”

Jonny snorts. “Learn something new every day, I guess. Can’t wait to tell the guys. Kaner gets off on-”

“Shut up, loser.” Patrick rolls his eyes. “Anyway, so I start wandering around the place, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible and I eventually end up in neo natal. You know how on TV they have that big window where there are all the new born babies in their little beds and the parents look at them and shit?”

“You looked at the babies?” Jonny can’t help but smile.

“Babies are fucking cute, dude. I want twenty. So, you can bet your fat ass I did watch the babies. But guess what.”

“What?”

Patrick grins brightly, like playing this little guessing game with Jonny brings him immense joy. “Guess who walked up next to me? To the window?” It’s a thing Patrick does often, a way to make people engage more in what he’s telling and Jonny can relate to that. It’s a shitty feeling talking about something you are passionate or excited about and watch the other person lose interest. Maybe Patrick’s got his fair share of experience with that or maybe it’s just how he is, regardless, Jonny plays along.

“Oh, I don’t know. Wayne Gretzky? Michelle Obama? Oh wait, was it Oprah? Please tell me it was Oprah.”

“Better.” Patrick declares confidently. “My dad. Nineteen years younger than I knew him of course, but it was him. I just knew it was him.”

“One of the babies-” Jonny’s mouth actually hangs open for moment. Patrick has told him about visiting younger selves but this-

“Was me. I had been born the night before and my dad-” Patrick cuts himself off, smiling goofily as he lets his gaze wander to the distance. The light is reflecting in his eyes, making them glint warmly and this is what Jonny means every time he hopes for Patrick to travel somewhere nice. He wishes Patrick could talk always like this about his travels, he wish they’d make him sound so content and happy. He wishes- “My dad obviously didn’t know me, I mean how could he, he didn’t know back then about time travel and all this fucked up shit, he’d just… He’d just become a dad and there he was watching his perfectly normal baby and there _I_ was watching him and he- he talked to me, I don’t know why, but he showed me which baby was his –was me- and, Jonny, I was so tiny. Little baby me. So freaking tiny. With no fucking hair.”

“I had hair when I was born.” There are baby pictures of himself and David all over the house and Jonny reckons it’s the same in the Kane house with their children. At one point Jonny might get to see them, pictures of baby Patrick. It’s only fair he guesses, Patrick gets to watch Jonny grow up after all.

“Freak,” Patrick comments, sticking his tongue out and accepting the shove to his shoulder he gets in return with grace. “Anyway, so my dad was talking to me and I was super awkward, because hey that’s my dad and shit and he didn’t know me. Like, can you imagine? Talking to a person you’ve known all your life who you love and they just- they don’t know you. It’s fucked up.”

Jonny’s throat feels dry all of sudden and he has to avert his eyes, the intensity in Patrick’s eyes, the warmth and enthusiasm, it’s too much. He loves it, he loves him, but it hurts. It’s a little like seeking warmth and getting burned reaching for the flame, because Patrick doesn’t get it. He’s looking at Jonny and he just-

“Yeah.” Jonny says quietly and maybe something in his voice gives it away and even though Patrick may not get the full extent of what he’s just said he does seem to understand _something_ , a flicker of guilt flashing through his eyes.

“…I… You know I meant…” Patrick clears his throat. “I think he was very tired and shit, but after we talked for a while, he asked me which name I liked better: Patrick or Henry.”

“Henry.” Jonny pulls a face, drawing another laugh from Patrick. He tries to picture him as a Henry and- No.

“Obviously, I knew what he picked, because I ain’t no Henry, but I wondered-”

“You said Henry, didn’t you?” Jonny shakes his head. That’s so inherently Patrick.

Patrick smirks. “Hell yeah.”

“But he chose Patrick anyway.” Jonny fills in. “Did you ever ask him why?”

“Yeah, I asked him the next time I skyped with mom and dad.” Patrick says smiling. There’s a soft breeze tousling his hair and Jonny almost reaches out to brush a curl from his forehead. “He said asking for advice is not really about wanting to know what the other person is thinking. But it still works, because it’s like flipping a coin. The moment the coin lands you get your answer. You know if it’s what you were secretly hoping for. And then you know what you want. Deep down. What _your_ choice is.”

“That’s wise.” Jonny says, but Patrick shrugs, running one hand through his hair. He doesn’t look as convinced, which is odd in itself because Patrick values his father’s opinion very highly, only ever speaking in the most glowing terms of him.

“What if what you were secretly hoping for is the wrong thing?” Patrick says, somewhat more quietly. “What if what you want isn’t right? What then?”

For a moment Patrick looks at Jonny like he actually expects an answer, or rather hopes for one, but Jonny doesn’t have one. He’s getting the feeling that somehow they moved on from talking about baby names to something more deep rooted. Patrick doesn’t give him enough time to think about it though. A mother with her two children in tow passes them, talking animatedly on the phone and when she’s gone Patrick lets out a chuckle, bumping his shoulder into Jonny’s.

“Anyway, that wasn’t my favorite part though,” He grins sunnily.

“No?”

Patrick shakes his head. “No. My favorite part was how my dad- He was, like- uh a nurse came up and she said he was allowed to take the baby –me- to my mom and he-” He pauses for a moment, gazing into the distance with a fond smile on his face. “God, I have no clue why –I was a stranger after all- but he- He let me hold me. I held little baby me in my arms. I wasn’t even a day old and there I was.”

“That’s-” Jonny is searching for the right word, but Patrick cuts him off. He looks strangely insecure all of sudden.

“Spooky? Weird? Fucked up?”

“Really fucking magical?” Jonny supplies before Patrick can start down talking his own story for real, finding other diminishing adjectives. It’s a great story and Patrick should know that and even more so it’s a great memory, something that shows that even though this time travelling is mostly perceived as a curse by Patrick it also holds blessings like this too and that Patrick picked this memory shows that he’s able to find beauty in it, even if it’s crazy and fucked up and maybe even a little bit spooky.

Patrick simply beams at Jonny in response and as the wind picks up some more he scoots a little closer, tugging one arm under Jonny’s jacket after a moment to wrap it around Jonny’s back. “Do you…” He shoots Jonny a glance. “Do you have a favorite time travel moment?”

“I…” Jonny hesitates, lifting one arm and putting it around Patrick’s shoulder so he gets more of Jonny’s warmth. It’s November but this is Dallas so it isn’t really cold, but Patrick’s always been more prone to freezing than Jonny. “I wouldn’t know which to pick.”

Patrick doesn’t look satisfied by that answer, frowning slightly and chewing on his lip. “Worst moment?” he adds after a few beats of silence.

When Jonny doesn’t answer immediately, Patrick starts nudging him impatiently. “C’mon, bro. fifteen years, it can’t have all been just good shit.”

“Let me think, dear god.” Jonny rolls his eyes at him. “There’s been, uh… There’s been one time I guess…”

He blushes a little, clearing his throat. It’s weird for Jonny to talk about this, when he knows it really shouldn’t be, but the very few times him and Patrick actually talked about his travelling, Patrick almost never had wanted to know about stuff that involves future Patrick’s visits. It’s also a delicate topic in itself, the worst memory. And not exactly pleasant for Jonny.

Patrick whines impatiently. “C’mon, Tazer. Give me the dirt. What did that fucker do?”

Patrick wants something funny, something mean, something against his future self, something he can use to justify his dislike, it’s obvious in the glint in his eyes and Jonny isn’t exactly sure how to deal with that, because he’s got a story, a bad memory, but it might not be what Patrick wants to hear. It’s also spoilers, and if Jonny’s got something burned into his brain it’s ‘you shouldn’t know too much about your future’ and ‘Everything happens the way it’s supposed to’.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you this,” Jonny says, just on principal and it earns him an eyeroll from Patrick.

“It’s my birthday.” He points out.

“You were in your mid-twenties, I think.” Jonny begins, shooting a side glance at Patrick before fixing his gaze straight ahead. He doesn’t like remembering this. “And I was… I was ten and you appeared in the woods behind my house like you almost always did. I didn’t know you were coming. I was just there, because-”

_-because I missed you and sometimes going there even on a day you wouldn’t come, made me feel a little closer._

“Well, you appeared.” Jonny swallows, looking down at his hands. “And you were in pain. You were in a lot of pain.”

He dares to steal another glance at Patrick. His smile is gone, replaced by a frown, lips slightly parted. “Why?” he asks after a moment.

Jonny swallows. He reaches out, fingers finding the edge of the collar of Patrick’s shirt, then he runs them along Patrick’s collarbone, above the fabric, but it still draws a shiver from Patrick. “Your collarbone,” Jonny answers quietly. “It was broken. You were about to go into surgery. When you travelled. Or the hospital, I don’t remember. I’m not sure, but- You were in so much pain, it scared me. And worst of all, I couldn’t do anything to help you. That’s… That was bad.”

Patrick bites his lip and looks away. “Do you know how it happens?”

“No.” Jonny answers truthfully. He doesn’t _know_ anything. “I’m guessing Hockey though. You mumbled something about boards, but you were pretty out of it.”

They are both quiet for a moment then Patrick blows out some air, stretching his legs. “Gee, Jonny. That’s not a very fun story. You buzz kill.”

“You asked for the _worst_!” Jonny defends himself, but he’s glad for the change in tone nonetheless.

“I guess I did.”

“It heals well though.” Jonny feels compelled to pint out, nodding towards Patrick’s collarbone. “Barely even a scar.”

“I never- I guess, I never paid much attention to details like that.” Patrick says, a tiny frown between his brows. “’s weird. Like you know me better than I do. Are there more? Scars, I mean.”

The answer is yes, but Jonny, hesitates, eyeing Patrick carefully. “Do you really want to know?”

Patrick looks like he considers it for a moment, then he shrugs. “I guess not. I’m still pretty though, right?” He sticks out his tongue.

“The prettiest.” Jonny says flatly, causing Patrick to giggle.

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment, tell me what you think :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, i forgot to update in September, so here it is. Sorry

“I think I found a place, by the way.” Jonny tells Patrick as he fiddles with the remote, flicking through the channels. They’ve returned to the hotel about five minutes ago and Patrick has been babbling on about catching the tailgate of some home renovating show he’s been meaning to watch. He peeks up at Jonny’s announcement though.

“Oh, sweet! Condo?”

Jonny nods. He’s been in contact with a real estate agent for a couple of weeks now. He likes living with Seabs, but even though neither Seabs nor Dayna have said anything Jonny feels a little like the third wheel, or like they are practicing parenting on him, which- no. “It has a rooftop garden. I can plant things.”

That hasn’t been something Jonny’s been explicitly looking for but it’s a nice extra. In fact it’s what has sold Jonny on the place. Patrick however seems to find it endlessly amusing.

He snorts. “Jesus, Toews. You are so lame. Why don’t you go buy a house in the suburbs right now? You are twenty, my man. Chop-chop, not getting any younger.”

“As of today you are twenty as well, buddy.” Jonny points out and Patrick grins.

“Yes, I am. One more year and I can finally drink legally.”

“You already can in Canada.” Jonny points out. And it’s not like the law has stopped Patrick before.

He gets a dismissive handwave in return. “Nobody cares about Canada, Jonny. You dirty moose lovers. Go fuck some maple syrup.”

While Patrick turns back to the TV Jonny’s phone buzzes. It’s a text from Patrick’s mom.

Jonny clears his throat, poking Patrick’s leg with his bare foot. “You should maybe start getting ready.”

“Ready for what?” Patrick doesn’t even look away from the screen, obviously content with munching on some M&M’s he’s found in his bag and watching his show. “Ready to party? We only meet with the guys in half an hour. Besides, Tazer, you should know I was born ready.”

Jonny can’t help but smirk. “No, dude,” He says, getting off the bed and walking over to where Patrick’s game day suit is hanging. “You don’t want to have birthday dinner with your parents in jeans and sweatshirt, do you?”

Patrick’s head snaps around and he stares at Jonny, mouth slightly open and his eyes wide and disbelieving. “What are you-”

Jonny just smiles. Patrick is going to love this.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, slowly climbing off the bed. “Did you-”

“Jessica and Erica couldn’t make it,” Jonny shrugs. It’s been kind of back and forth and Jonny has nearly lost his mind a couple of times while planning this birthday surprise. “But your mom, dad and Jackie are coming.”

“But- The team- I-” Patrick mumbles, and Jonny can basically see the gears turning in his head. “And Q, he said- Because- The game tomorrow and-”

Patrick had been crushed when he’d found out they’d be in Dallas on his birthday and even more so when Q had told him that he didn’t approve of his family coming out to see him, saying that he could celebrating with them the next time they’d be in Buffalo. Jonny half gets it, because if your family flies cross country to spend time with you, it‘s going to be distracting, especially when it comes with birthday celebrations, but that alone wasn’t reason enough. Q and Patrick haven’t exactly warmed to each other yet, Patrick begrudgingly following their new coach but his lingering loyalties to Savvy making it harder. Plus there’d been two practices in a row that Patrick had missed due to travelling and while Jonny had done his best to make up lies Q had been far from amused by that, questioning Patrick’s dedication (which is bullshit. Everybody knows Patrick is more driven and dedicated than pretty much anyone) and threatening to revoke privileges.

Jonny places Patrick’s suit on the bed –carefully not to wrinkle it- then sits down himself. “The team knows. I’m actually amazed nobody spilled the beans. I swear every time you mentioned our ‘party’ today I had a mild aneurism because of those fuckers.”

“But, how? I mean- You-  _How_?” Patrick still looks disbelieving, but there’s something else in his eyes now, that looks suspiciously like-

“Please, don’t cry, Patrick.” Jonny says as calmly as he can. Patrick doesn’t just cry easily when he’s upset. He also cries when he’s happy. Really happy. It makes Jonny a little uncomfortable anyway though. Patrick doesn’t seem to mind. “I talked to Q.” Jonny clears his throat, looking away. “Being captain has its perks. I vouched for you. That you seeing your family today wouldn’t distract you and- or- affect your game tomorrow. I trust that is correct?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, Jonny. Of course, fuck.” Patrick is nodding so frantically Jonny worries he might give himself whiplash. Then he worries about himself because Patrick basically jumps him, koala-hugging Jonny with such force that he almost ends up lying flat on his back with Patrick on top of him. Almost. “Fuck, thank you, Jonny. Thank you, thank you. So much.”

Jonny smiles, patting Patrick’s back a little awkwardly, after a moment where he allows himself to return the hug tightly, breathing in Patrick’s scent and feeling his warmth. “Happy birthday, Peeks.”

Patrick laughs a little breathlessly, untangling himself from Jonny and running a hand through his curls. “Do you wanna come? To the dinner?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t, man.” Patrick shakes his head. “My mom loves you.”

“It’s your family, Patrick. You spent time with me every day.” The truth is Jonny wants to come but he also doesn’t. He remembers the last family lunch with the Kanes vividly and him slipping up, telling what Patrick later dubbed as their ‘gay ass story’ of how Patrick has been travelling to Jonny ever since he was a kid and while rationally Jonny knows Patrick isn’t really mad at him for this, especially not after a whole year, he’s irrationally scared of fucking up again.

Patrick shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

For a few moments they are both silent, then Jonny clears his throat. “There’s more. I’ve… I’ve got something else for you.”

“Another gift?” Patrick beams, “Damn, Jonny, you are spoiling me. Ice cream, my family  _and_  another gift? I gotta step up my game for your birthday, huh?”

“Uhm,” Jonny rubs his neck then fishes his wallet out from where he’s left it in his jeans when he changed into sweatpants upon returning to their room. He blushes a little as he takes out the list and hands it to Patrick without looking at him. He really hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. “Look, I know that it means more to me than to you, but-”

“This is the list.” Patrick gapes at it, holding with such care one could think he was holding a newborn baby. He stares at the wrinkles paper, then at Jonny. “This is  _your_  list. This-”

Jonny gets up from the bed then, stepping next to Patrick so he can lean over his shoulder a little bit. He points to the very first date on the list. “This is the one where I first met you. And those are the second and third.” Patrick runs his thumb over the faded numbers, following where Jonny is pointing. “I added those by myself, because we only started the list then. And this-”

“What’s this?” Patrick cuts him off, having already skipped ahead, pointing to a date way further down the list. “Why is it underlined? Is it important?”

“It’s…” Jonny swallows, very glad that Patrick is too focused staring at the list to look at Jonny, who’s sure his face must have the same color as their home jerseys by now. “It’s the first time you visit me after I’ve turned seventeen.”

“Okay?”

“This here… I was-” Jonny moves on quickly to another date. He’s irrationally scared that one look at his face will tell Patrick exactly why teenage Jonny has marked this date as important.

“Eleven.” Patrick fills in. He’s been successfully distracted and is now looking at the new date.

“Yeah. And I had a concussion. I was- It had happened during a game and my mom wasn’t there, but you were. I got hurt and you made up some lie about being a relative? I don’t really remember it clearly, because well- concussion, but they let you see me and you were so so angry at me for getting hurt and angry at the kid that had hit me. Kinda like yesterday. You being angry at me for fighting… it reminded me of that.”

“See!” Patrick jabs his elbow in Jonny’s side but looks apologetic the second that Jonny winces. “Getting yourself hurt is a bad idea and you should stop doing it. For my sanity if anything, asshole.”

Jonny snorts, secretly feeling warm at Patrick more or less freely admitting to the fact that Jonny getting hurt is taking a toll on him. Of course that’s what friends do and Jonny gets that, he feels angry and pissed every time one of his guys gets hurt during a game, but it’s still nice to have this correlation between present and future Patrick. And more importantly, it’s another instance of Patrick not getting up in arms at the mention of his older selves. “You didn’t stay for long. You were gone before my mom showed up. But another you returned a couple of days later.” He points to the next date. “You read Harry Potter to me.”

Patrick shoots him a glance. “That… That sounds…nice.”

“It was. You made me feel better.” He pauses, studying the wondrous expression on Patrick’s face. “I know that you don’t really like future yous for whatever reason, but- they-  _You_  helped me a lot. Each and every of those days was something I looked forward to and maybe… maybe one day it can be like that for you. Looking forward to seeing me.”

Patrick turns around. “Jonny-”

Jonny’s phone rings, shrill and loudly, making both of them flinch.

“It’s-” Jonny clears his throat, his voice sounding strangely raspy. “It’s your mom. This means they are waiting in the lobby.”

“Oh.” Patrick blinks a couple of time, seemingly coming back to reality. He takes a step back, licking his lips. “Right. Yeah. I should-” he vaguely gestures to his suit. “I-” He halts again, staring at the list in his hands, before folding it carefully. “Thank you, Jonny.”

 

***

_**** _

_** Jonny is 15 and Patrick is 35 ** _

It’s cold, far below zero, and the ground is frozen, snow covering branches and the forest floor, swallowing the steps of Jonny, David, and their father.

“Careful now, Jon.” His father whispers and Jonny swallows, his fingers flexing around the rifle. There’s a Whitetail Deer a few meters away from them, behind a couple of leafless bushes, nibbling at something on the ground, unaware of their presence. Jonny’s heart is pounding to his throat and he can feel his hands shaking. He’s never liked hunting, never enjoyed it much, but for some reason Jonny’s father insists on dragging him along on the few days that Jonny’s home. He’d much rather spent the time on the ice but apparently, his wishes aren’t top priority here.

“You got it, son. Slowly. You got time.”

Jonny clenches his jaw, raising the rifle, lining up the shot. He stares at the deer, stares at his own breath rising, a foggy, surreal presence in the cold winter air. It’s started snowing again too. HE can see tiny snowflakes sitting on the barrel. White against black.

“Jonathan.” His father says.

Jonny squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a step forward, a twig snaps. The deer startles and a second later it’s gone, having jumped off into the deeper woods. Jonny lets out a breath while his father sighs.

“Can’t we go fishing?” Jonny mumbles, handing the rifle back to his father, trying not to show how relieved he feels.

“We went fishing yesterday.” His father points out, shaking his head. “You’ve said you wanted to shoot your first deer. That was your deer, Jon.”

“I didn’t say that.” Jonny argues as they pick up on walking again. “You said that. You said _Jonathan we are gonna shoot you a deer._  And I said  _Papa, I really don’t want to_. I voted for fishing.”

“I want to shoot a deer.” David chimes in, glancing at Jonny with unconcealed disdain in his eyes.

“David has gotten good with the rifle.” Jonny’s father points out causing David to smirk at Jonny, like Jonny cares if David is better than him at shooting shit. It’s not like Jonny has  _just_  said how he’d rather be fishing or doing literally anything else than stalking through the woods with his family, looking to kill a damn deer that they won’t even eat since Jonny’s mother doesn’t like deer. It’s annoying and a waste of time and Jonny isn’t a big fan of hunting in general. Fish isn’t cute, Fish aren’t pet-able. Deer are. They have eyelashes.

“Papa,” Jonny whines, “Can I go home, please? I promise I’ll help Maman with the cooking. I’ll even tidy my room, I-”

“Sshhh.”His father shushes him. There’s a sound, a rustling noise and then-

For a second Jonny think he’s heard his name, but the next thing he hears is the bang of a rifle being fired and his father cursing.

“You hit it?” David asks excitedly, trying to peer through the tree covert that their father has just fired at.

“I don’t think so. But let’s check.” His father says, wrapping an arm around David’s shoulder, stalking into the direction of the bushes.

Jonny stays where he is for a couple of seconds, hand against his chest, because his heart just won’t stop racing. It’s just some stupid deer. He knows that, it’s just- He hates the loud bang and he hates it when the bullet hits but doesn’t kill. Hates the quivering breaths the animals let out, the starry hecticness in their eyes. He hates seeing them die.

When he eventually follows he finds his father and brother standing in a clearing, but there’s no dying or dead deer. There’s nothing. Just them and a few sprinkles of blood in the snow. Jonny can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Again David glares at him.

“But where did it go?” David asks. “Papa, where did it go?”

Jonny looks at the ground, just like his father. There’s a bit of agitated snow that isn’t smooth and untouched but messed up, but there are no clear tracks, nothing leading there or away. A bird maybe?

“I don’t know, son.” Their father says, narrowing his eyes as he’s gazing at the surrounding trees.

“Ugh, whatever.” Jonny shakes his head. “Look, you two can chase your damn mystery deer all day for all I care. I’m going home.” With that he simply turns around walking into the direction they came from. Jonny’s good at navigating through the woods and he’s been here enough times to find his way back.

“Jonathan!” His dad calls after him, but Jonny doesn’t stop, hands buried deep in the pockets off his jacket. Then:

“Jonny!”

He keeps walking.

“Jonny!”

 

***

 

_** Spring 2009, Jonny is 20 and Patrick is 20 and 25 ** _

“Jonny!”

Jonny turns around to find Patrick already a section over, hovering next to a giant display of pillows on couches and beds. He could have sworn Patrick had been right next to him a second ago, while he’s been reading the energy consumption chart of a lamp he’s considering buying for his living room. He’s moved into the condo about two weeks ago but so far he only has what he was allowed to take from Seabs’, which accumulates to pretty much just a mattress, two pots and a mini fridge. In the long run that might not cut it, so Jonny’s decided to use their two days off before the next game to go furniture shopping, with Patrick happily tagging along.

He sighs, making a mental note to come back to the lamp later and strolls over to Patrick who’s poking at a giant Hexahedron-pillow, which Jonny really hopes he isn’t about to suggest to Jonny, because honestly- there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed and that pillow is one of them.

“Why are we doing this again?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “No, scratch that. Why am  _I_ doing this  _with_  you?”

“Dude, you  _asked_  me to come with you, because you are –for some inexplicable reason- too proud to let your mom play interior designer with your credit card.” Patrick gives him a meaningful look, “What did she say again?  _You live like this, Jonathan_?”

Jonny boxes him in the shoulder on principal, just for that impersonation, knowing full well that Patrick is right. “What can I say, I’m not a mama’s boy like you.”

Patrick just shrugs, absolutely unbothered by Jonny’s admittedly weak chirp, moving on to another display of pillows. “Joke’s on you. My mom is awesome and so is my place. Also we are a team, she and I. So, checkmate, motherfucker.” He sticks out his tongue, tossing a pillow at Jonny that he manages to catch and put back in its place just as a saleslady walks by an aisle down.

“This was a mistake.” He says rubbing his face, causing Patrick to laugh.

“C’mon grumpy. That fucking copycat couch of yours needs some decorative pillows. Show some passion!”

The couch. Jonny internally shakes his head. He doesn’t quite get what Patrick’s deal with Jonny’s couch is. Earlier when Jonny had told Patrick about already having ordered a couch, Patrick had momentarily flipped his shit, very upset about the fact that Jonny had apparently unknowingly bought the very same couch as Patrick. The fact that Jonny didn’t know that since it hadn’t been delivered to Patrick’s yet and he hadn’t even known Patrick was looking for a new couch had seemed secondary. He decides to point it out again nevertheless.

“For the hundredth time, Patrick, I did not know you bought the same couch. If I had known-”

“Semantics, schmemantics.” Patrick picks up another pillow, squeezing it testingly. “You totally love my style. You wish you were as swaggy as me, just admit it.”

“I wish you would stop saying swaggy.”

“Admit it.”

Jonny snorts and turns away. Which turns out to be a mistake, because the next “Admit it” is accompanied by Jonny getting a pillow fucking tossed at the back of his head. It misses by an inch, flying past Jonny’s ear. Jonny stops in his tracks, turning around to find Patrick grinning at him.

“Gotta work on your aim there, Peeks.”

In hindsight Jonny should have seen what happens next coming. Patrick is a competitive little fucker, just like Jonny is and he’s not one to back down from a challenge or not to read a challenge into the simplest of statements. Another pillow comes flying.

“It’s on, loser!” And another.

Jonny manages to catch the one after the next, just in time for the saleslady to appear between him and Patrick a pinched yet polite expression on her face. “Sirs!” she says her voice kind of shrill. “You can’t do this. Now you have to buy them.”

Patrick pulls a face that doesn’t exactly convey ‘sorry’ but is more a vivid expression of ‘yikes’ paired with him really really enjoying getting them into trouble. It’s so typically Patrick that Jonny is torn between wanting to laugh and strangle that motherfucker. Very gently. Maybe kiss him too. Okay, maybe no strangling and just kissing. Whatever.

Jonny stares at Patrick then at the collection of mismatched pillows surrounding him. “I’m-” He looks at the sales lady and back at the pillows. He sighs, resigned. “I’ll- I’ll buy them. I’m- My apologies. I… I am very sorry for your troubles.”

He can see Patrick making a fist bump in the air as the lady puts on what is probably her best customer service face. “I’ll have them added to your cart, Mr. Toews.”

Jonny swallows, forcing a smile while his face is burning. “Thank you.”

She leaves then, picking up the scattered pillows while Jonny watches mournfully. “Thanks for that, asshole.”

“It adds character?” Patrick suggests gleefully, knowing full well that at least two of those pillows will look horribly together on Jonny’s couch, but then again-

“Oh, what the hell.” Jonny throws his hands up, it’s not like he can’t afford a few ugly overpriced pillows. Also, if anyone ever asks he can just blame it on Patrick.

Patrick grins winningly, adjusting his base cap, walking over to tug at Jonny’s arm. “C’mon dude. You totally need- like, new towels and shit too.”

Jonny frowns. “What’s wrong with my towels?” They are just towels. Perfectly fine towels if you ask Jonny.

“Nothing’s wrong with them. They just don’t match your bathroom rug.”

“I don’t have a-” Jonny begins to protest, but one look at Patrick’s expression has him pause. “You picked a bathroom rug for me?”

Patrick’s face splits into a grin. “I… may have… taken a look at one advertising catalog… Or two. Before coming here.”

He looks so ridiculously proud, but also a bit teasing like he expects Jonny to chirp and he’s ready to shoot something back, but Jonny- He just smiles, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling spread in his stomach. He wraps an arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “One or two, huh?

He doesn’t just like this, doing as mundane shit as furniture shopping with Patrick. He loves it and that’s really fucking confusing because Jonny is not a big fan of going shopping, which is part of the reason why he’s been living like a minimalist hipster loner (according to Patrick) in his expensive ass condo for far too many days. But this- Shopping with Patrick, it might strain his nerves and get him in trouble with shop clerks, but it’s also nice. It’s more than nice.

“What?” Patrick asks, having Jonny realizes that he’s probably staring at Patrick with a kind of moronic expression like an idiot.

Whatever. “Nothing.” He shrugs.

“Then what’s with that look, Tazer?” Patrick doesn’t let up, poking Jonny in the cheek, “I didn’t know your face could do this?”

“Do what?”

“Not look murderous while trying to stare the air into submission?”

“Oh fuck off.” Jonny shakes his head. He totally smiles all the time so Patrick can go fuck himself. “Go ahead, show me the towels, Peeks. I’m done with pillows for the next century.”

Patrick tilts his head, rocking back and forth for a second before holding up one finger, digging into another pile of pillows to their right. He ends up tossing a hideous monstrosity with green and red flowers at Jonny, that honestly-

Jonny can’t believe he’s in love with this ridiculous guy.

“ _Now_ , we are done with pillows.” He declares then clears his throat, bowing to Jonny. “If you would follow me to the bathroom section now, sir. I believe we have just the right thing for you.”

“That your salesman voice? Weak.” Jonny comments.

“Shut up, I’d be a baller salesman. The fucking best, I’ll let you know. No joke.”

Jonny only smiles in return which earns him another finger shoved into his face. “There’s that face again. You look like an idiot. Also if you think I won’t find something in the bathroom section to throw at you, you are sadly mistaken.”

Jonny rolls his eyes.

“When I was a kid, I tried to guess what you did for a living.” He tells Patrick. “And one time I suggested you were a salesman. A really shitty one though.”

Patrick fake gasps, clutching his chest. “Lies and Slender. I’d be fucking awesome.”

“Maybe. You are a better hockey player though.”

Patrick only grins in return, apparently in such a good mood, that not even the mention of time travel can darken it. “Takes one to know one.”

“I was a little upset, because of something a teacher said, that day, when I interrogated you about your job. I was doubting I could be good enough to play hockey professionally.” Jonny continues.

“Well, that’s just stupid.” Patrick scoffs, shooting Jonny an incredulous glance. “I’ve seen you play as a kid, dude.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. Patrick had said something similar back then, cursing Jonny’s teacher and doubting the guy would say that if he’d ever seen Jonny play. “You made me believe in myself.”

For a second it looks like Patrick is blushing. “Well, I guess that fucker does  _some_  things right.”

“You do.” Jonny says, then: “And for the record I think you’d be a great salesman too. So in case the whole hockey thing doesn’t work out-” He makes a broad gesture to the aisles surrounding them.

Patrick responds with a giggle and a punch to the arm. Jonny’s content with that.

They (or rather Jonny) end up spending an obscene amount of money on pretty much anything Jonny needs or could only possibly need in some fucked up parallel universe where he’s in desperate need of lamps in his walk-in closet that match the one in his hallway. Jonny complains about it loudly to everyone who’ll listen, that Patrick made him buy all kinds of shit, but Patrick grins like he’s just won something every time he does so Jonny’s fairly certain he gets how Jonny means it. He likes that his condo feels like a home now and he’s man enough to admit that if it had been up to him he may have all the necessities but not much of a homely vibe going on. Patrick took care of that and if that lets Jonny imagine that Patrick feels a little bit at home there too then that’s just an added bonus.

It’s just- things are good. Things are really good. Unlike 2008 2009 has started good, and continued that way, them collecting points, winning more than they are losing and not just barely. It’s good, it’s looking good and suddenly it’s April and it feels like the season has flown by within the blink of an eye and Jonny would doubt his memory if it weren’t for things to feel so vastly different from how things started back in fall, when Jonny had felt so out of it himself, a jittery mess, confused and unsure, trying to fill the role of captain while navigating his fucked up personal life. Now he feels at ease inside his own skin, feels like he’s not just putting up the act of being captain but actually  _is_  being a captain.

Jonny just feels pretty great about himself and everything at the moment and it must show because future Patrick picks up on Jonny’s good mood almost instantly when he shows up for his first visit in almost three weeks. He kisses Jonny hello before venturing in the depth of Jonny’s closet, producing a pair of shorts and one of Jonny’s UND hoodies out to wear. Jonny just watches him from the doorway, loving how at home Patrick looks, walking around like he owns the place, comfortable and relaxed.

“’sup, bro?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows, lacing his arms around Jonny’s neck and getting on his tiptoes for a more lingering kiss. “Something going on? Something good?

Jonny grins and shrugs, putting his arms around Patrick’s waist, then letting them slip a bit lower, in the back pockets of the shorts Patrick’s wearing.

“C’mon, tell me.” Patrick nuzzles Jonny’s neck. “What year it is? A good year?”

“I’m just-” Jonny shrugs. “I’m just happy. That’s all.”

“Oh, are you?” Patrick smiles, untangling himself from Jonny so he can hop on the bed, unerringly picking that one ugly pillow that Patrick had chosen last on their shopping trip that has somehow found its way into the pillow selection on Jonny’s bed. “That’s wonderful, because I really, really like you being happy. You could say it’s one of my favorite things.” He quirks one eyebrow and tosses the pillow at Jonny.

Jonny catches it and crawls onto the bed to flop down next to Patrick. “How sweet of you.”

Patrick winks and leans in for a quick kiss. “I just can’t help it, baby. I’m the sweetest.”

“We made the playoffs.” Jonny tells him. It feels unreal to say it, but they’ve made it and not even by the skin of their teeth. Five days ago against Nashville on home ice, they won 3-1 cementing their spot in the playoffs, ensuring the Blackhawks’ playoffs appearance for the first time since 2002 and Jonny’s been riding that high ever since. He’s bursting with pride and excitement and while he’s making an active effort to find that balance between confidence and over confidence, he just feels it pumping in his veins, the certainty that they have a real shot, that if they only keep playing like they’ve been the past weeks, maybe up their game they  _could_  make it and it’s only Jonny’s second season. Sure, there’s a long road ahead of them and there’s nothing quite like playoffs hockey, and yet Jonny can’t help but feel determined. “We made it, Pat. And I think we have a real shot at the cup too. This might be our year.”

Patrick grins brightly, “And I am very excited for you. But don’t even ask. I’m not telling you how it goes.”

Jonny rolls his eyes, leaning in to capture Patrick’s lips in a kiss. “I wasn’t gonna ask.” He mumbles and Patrick hums in response, widening his knees so Jonny can climb between them and lie on top of Patrick while they keep kissing. “I don’t even care. I just feel like- things are finally on the right track. With hockey, with you.”

“With me?” Patrick wiggles his eyebrows, smiling up at Jonny. “Gee, I love being on the right track. Also one of my favorite things.”

“I think,” Jonny licks his lips, thinking back to the past months, to their road trip, the lighthouse, Patrick’s birthday, their shopping trip, the phone calls on Christmas, everything. “I think you are maybe starting to like me back.”

Patrick moves one hand to the nape of Jonny’s neck, rubbing the bumps of his spine with his thumb. “Is that so? Mh… smart me.”

Jonny searches Patrick’s face for any sign of an answer, if he’s right or not, but there’s nothing definite there, at least nothing Jonny can make out. The truth is, Jonny doesn’t really think he needs spoilers on this from Patrick. It feels like- The way Patrick is looking at Jonny sometimes, the way they always stick together, it has started to feel different and Patrick, ever since the summer when things with Claire had ended, he’s still single, not having jumped immediately into the next relationship like he had after Chloe. And that- Well, Jonny’s just got a feeling.

“You went furniture shopping with me.” Jonny tells him.

Patrick’s face lights up. “Oh, I remember that. That was a good day.”

“It was.” Jonny agrees. “You have a lot of opinions. On a lot of things.”

“I really do.” Patrick leans up to give Jonny a quick peck on the lips. “And you love it.”

“I really do.” He mimics Patrick exact tone and voice, drawing a laugh from him. “It’s quite amazing to be honest, for someone with such poor taste in clothing to actually have a sense for interior design.”

Patrick makes an affronted noise in the back of his throat, pinching Jonny in the side, causing him to roll off of Patrick with a yelp. “Fuck off, loser. My clothes are awesome.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Patrick only hums in response, rolling onto his side so he can look at Jonny.

“It really was fun though,” Jonny continues, wrapping the strand of the hoodie Patrick is wearing around his index and middle finger absentmindedly. “Even though you got kind of weird about my couch for a bit there. “Apparently you have the same one?”

“Oh yes, that couch.” Patrick says fondly. “Damn, I loved that couch. Lots of fun memories on it.” He winks obnoxiously.

“Well, present you didn’t seem too keen about it.”

“Present me is confused about it.” Patrick explains. “And you don’t even know what was going through his head when he first saw your condo.”

“What’s wrong with my condo?”

Patrick smiles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Nothing, it’s a great condo.”

“I know it is. That’s why I bought it, but why don’t you like it?” Jonny presses. He hadn’t gotten the feeling that Patrick didn’t like his place, the handful of times that Patrick has been over so far. In fact it had been the opposite and Jonny would really hate to be wrong.

“I didn’t say he doesn’t  _like_  it. I’m  _confused_  about it. There’s a difference.” Before Jonny can ask what the hell there is to be confused about when it comes to his condo, Patrick continues: “Mini me bought his couch –the twin to yours- because he saw it in a condo that he assumed was his when he travelled to the future.”

Jonny mouthes the word  _assumed_  silently, eyes transfixed on Patrick. “His condo?”

“The first time you showed me this place, this awesome condo, I realize that it wasn’t mine. It was yours. It was this.” Patrick makes a broad gesture. “I travelled to  _your_  future apartment and I got  _your_  couch because I thought it was mine. And-” he cuts himself off, laughing a little, in the way that makes his dimples pop and eyes crinkle, “I -for a second there- I kinda got the suspicion that future you might be dating one of my sisters.”

“What the fuck.” Jonny stares at him “I- Your sisters- I- What?”

Patrick is still snickering, but he somehow manages to plant a kiss onto Jonny’s lips nevertheless. Jonny is too flabbergasted to kiss back though. “Look, I think it’s my condo, because I see a picture of my sisters on a sideboard there. Then I find out that it’s yours- And- Well, it made sense at the time.”

“It’s ours.” Jonny says breathily, looking around his bedroom. If there’s a picture of Patrick’s sisters in here in the future, then that means that Patrick lives there too. And that means that Patrick- Present Patrick was in the condo that Jonny and Patrick live in together, he might have run into them, he might have-

“It’s ours.” Patrick confirms and when he kisses Jonny this time he kisses back and it’s only several minutes later that Jonny mutters:

“You really thought I’d be dating one of your sisters?”

Patrick swats him over the head with a mock stern expression. “Watch your tone, Mister. My sisters are awesome, you should be so fucking lucky.”

“I already got the best Kane though. I’m the luckiest.”

“Ha.” Patrick grins. “Charmer.”

They kiss for a while then, but Jonny doesn’t think it’s leading anywhere. It’s nice though, makes him feel content and he thinks if he really committed to it, they could, there’s a slow boiling heat in his stomach but for now just kissing is enough. It reminds him a little of the time before Patrick would do anything ‘really’ sexual with them, except then Jonny had always been impatient and hungry for more. He still feels that hunger but-

“Pat?”

“Mh?”

“ _Are_  you starting to like me back?” Jonny asks quietly, fiddling with the hem of Patrick’s hoodie. “You know… present you?”

Patrick pulls back a little, expression thoughtful. “Do you think I am?”

“I think,” Jonny pauses, “I think if I kissed you… you might kiss me back.”

Patrick licks his lips, tilting his head. “So, are you going to kiss me?”

Jonny cups his jaw and kisses him. Patrick indulges him for a second smiling into the kiss then as they part he rolls his eyes fondly. “Dork. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I also know you already know anyway. If I’m going to do it,” Jonny replies, “Even if I don’t know it myself yet. So why ask?”

And that’s the thing. Patrick knows. He knows if his younger self likes Jonny back, knows what he would do if Jonny leaned in for a kiss next time they are sprawled across Jonny’s couch, playing xbox. He knows what’s going on in present Patrick’s head when he looks at Jonny in that way, that makes Jonny feel strangely fuzzy inside. He knows and Jonny doesn’t. It’s been almost seven years since Jonny has been in this position, thinking about kissing his crush, unsure of his reaction. Future Patrick is a safe harbor, Jonny can trust in him and his love for Jonny. Present Patrick is more… fickle, less predictable. Still. Jonny thinks he might.

“I got no choice but to try, don’t I?” He shrugs. He doesn’t think they’ll be getting anywhere if he doesn’t. Just the where is unclear, entirely dependent on the enigma that is Patrick Kane.

There’s a flash of something Jonny can’t quite put his finger on in Patrick’s eyes but it’s quickly replaced by soft affection, as he cradles Jonny’s jaw, tenderly running his thumb over Jonny’s cheeks. “So brave.” He whispers. “Brave, brave Jonny. I wish I’d had your courage at that age.” He kisses him gently. “Could have saved us a lot of time.”

“I’m not brave.” Jonny mumbles back. “I’m fucking terrified.” Back when he was fourteen he had been sure that Patrick wasn’t feeling the same, he’d still been scared but not in the same way. Now he thinks Patrick might and that’s- that’s so much scarier. Because Jonny has hope.

“I’m scared too.” Patrick says and Jonny has no idea which version of himself he’s talking about. He tabs his fingers against Jonny’s chest right over his heart. “But here’s the difference between you and me and fear. I’m a runner and you are a fighter.”

Jonny frowns and Patrick chuckles.

“Types of fear responses, Jonny. Flight or fight.”

“What about playing dead?”

Patrick snorts. “You are so lame. And it’s called freeze. Jeffrey Alan Gray. Look it up.”

“Mh,” Jonny hums, fisting a hand in the front of Patrick’s hoodie, to pull him closer. “I like it when you are being smart.”

“Oh yeah?” Patrick raises his eyebrows but it’s him initiating the next kiss, lazily moving his lips against Jonny’s until he pushes his tongue in, making Jonny gasp and push even closer. “Don’t get used to it.”

 

***

 

Jonny plans on kissing Patrick, or rather, he keeps it in the back of his mind, the decision, the resolve, but somehow it doesn’t feel right to do it now, not days before the playoffs when nerves are wound tight and pressure is weighing down hard on them. So Jonny pushes it back, puts hockey first. Patrick will still be there when their run is over –whether that be in April, with humiliation and disappointment burning high, or sometime in June with their hands on the cup. But unlike Patrick the chance to lead his team on this journey, that won’t be there for another year, so Jonny prioritizes.

He plays the first NHL playoffs game of his life on April 16th on home ice. They are facing the Calgary Flames. It’s round one and the goal –the cup- seems impossibly close and yet so far away. Four rounds, each at least four games at best, seven at worst. The atmosphere in the locker room before game one is energized and hyped and yet there’s the lingering fear of disappointment ever present, at least for Jonny so it’s as much for himself as for the guys (for almost all of them this marks the first time in the playoffs as well) that Jonny kicks himself in the ass and switches on his captain voice giving an –he hopes- at least somewhat inspirational speech to fire them up, just before they hit the ice. Sharpy and Duncs, his As, nod solemnly, and Patrick cracks a joke to lighten the mood a little, which Jonny is just as thankful for. He feels good hitting the ice, having the city of Chicago roar for them and he feels even better when they walk off with a win on the board. It’s been a back and forth. Every time Calgary scored the Hawks had been able to answer, but in the end it had been Havlat’s OT goal –his second of the game- handing them the win. It’s only the first of the series, the first of the playoffs, period, but there’s a weight lifting off Jonny’s shoulders the size of the UC. Whatever happens, they at least won’t get sweeped.

Calgary scores, taking the lead early in game 2 of the series, but Jonny is able to answer it with two goals of his own in the second period and when Sharpy –assisted by Patrick- puts in another, effectively handing them the lead, the cheers of the home crowd are basically deafening. This is hockey, Jonny thinks, this is what he’s dreamed of ever since he’s been a kid, climbing on the ice with shaky legs.  _This is hockey._

Heading to Calgary with a series lead of 2-0 has them feel confident, maybe a little too much and maybe that’s what costs them the game. It’s a 4-2 loss and suddenly with the series being one loss away from tied Jonny feels the anxiety seeping back in. It’s just one loss, Jonny reminds himself, the media, the guys, but then they lose game 4 4-6 and Jonny knows they need a change of momentum. There’s a two day break until they’ll face the flames again on home ice, and Jonny spends them holed up in his condo, talking through the games again and again with Patrick, twice until late into the night when the TV program is so shitty that even Patrick won’t watch it. It’s one of those nights that Jonny wakes up in the middle of the night, drowsy and disoriented with a kink in his neck, and it takes him a moment to figure out why he isn’t in his bed, but on his couch with Patrick half sprawled on top of him, legs hanging off the couch and drooling a little on Jonny’s stomach.

They must have fallen asleep at some point during their conversation before Patrick had been able to shuffle to the guest bedroom and Jonny to his own bed. Jonny allows himself a couple of moments, just listening to Patrick breathe, feeling the warmth of his body, realizing that if he tried, he could fall back asleep, just like this, on his couch with Patrick pressed close and it’d be worth the ache in his back come morning. And he’d do it, he knows that with startling certainty, that’s how stupidly starved he is for affection and closeness from Patrick. But they’ve got a game tomorrow, a game they have to win and Jonny’s go to be rested enough to string up some inspirational shit that helps the guys back into the series and as much as he wants to –staying on the couch like this- it’s not the way to go.

“Peeks,” he whispers, sitting up a little which unfortunately has Patrick shift in a way that ends him with his face pretty much in Jonny’s lap, which- No. “Hey, buddy, wake up.” Jonny jostles Patrick’s shoulder a bit, causing Patrick to groan and press his face into what usually would probably be his pillow, but as it is, turns out to be Jonny’s crotch.

Suddenly Jonny –at least a part of him- is very much awake. Patrick sadly isn’t.

“Pat,” he insists, clenching his jaw, trying very hard to think about the least sexual things his mind is capable to come up with. But it’s- It’s Patrick. It’s Patrick’s mouth so close to Jonny’s dick -Jonny’s rapidly hardening dick- only a thin layer of fabric away from Patrick’s cheek and that’s-

It’s not what it looks like, Jonny reminds himself. It’s not what it feels like. It’s not. This is present Patrick. This is-

“What.” Patrick mumbles, his lips moving against- And- fuck. If it weren’t for Jonny’s sweatpants, Patrick’s mouth would- His breath is wet and warm and Jonny can feel it. It makes him shiver, has the air get stuck in his throat.

“ _Patrick_.”

“Jesus, what? I’m up, I’m up.” Patrick grumbles, bracing himself on his elbows, lazily blinking up at Jonny and a part of Jonny, -the treacherous, wanting part- mourns the loss of contact. It’s the part of him that’d been yearning for Jonny to grind his hips up, to put his hand in Patrick’s curls and hold his head down so Jonny could-

Jonny can pinpoint the exact moment Patrick’s brain catches up and it dawns on him what kind of positions he’s been in up until half a second ago. His mouth goes slack, all words, all complaints that he might have had lined up having seemingly evaporated. For once Patrick’s got nothing to say and just stares at Jonny. Jonny stares back.

His dick is still hard.

“Uhm.”

Patrick’s eyes flicker from Jonny’s face down to his crotch then back up at Jonny. He still doesn’t say anything, but there is no way he doesn’t see- No way he hasn’t felt-

“We… Uh.” Jonny clears his throat, somehow getting looked at by Patrick like this, with such a close proximity, it’s- It’s getting to him. Patrick is still pretty much slotted between Jonny’s legs, head crotch level and so so close to Jonny’s- “We fell asleep.” He finishes lamely, a blush creeping onto his face.

Patrick licks his lips and Jonny’s dick twitches. He has to close his eyes.

In hindsight he wishes he’d kept them open, because as it is he doesn’t see it coming.  _It_  being Patrick’s hand palming him through his sweats, simple as that, like it’s something they do, like it’s not something Jonny’s been dreaming about for years and something that Patrick has never done with anyone ever before.

His eyes fly open, but he doesn’t find Patrick looking back, instead Patrick seems to be entirely focused on his own hand in Jonny’s crotch, a little like he’s watching it happen himself. For a second Jonny wonders if this is a dream after all and his waking up was just some dream inside a dream bullshit, the diffuse flickering of the muted TV illuminating the scene, the lights of the Chicago skyline outside, it makes everything seem strangely surreal.

“Pat,” Jonny mumbles breathlessly –it’s hard to focus on breathing when every last cell of Jonny’s brain is trying to comprehend what is happening- when Patrick doesn’t move his hand, doesn’t look up, doesn’t do anything but inhale, exhale, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted, a sliver of wet pink tongue peeking out. Inhale. Exhale. “What are you doing?”

Patrick’s eyes snap up then, finding Jonny’s and at the same time he presses down, maybe subconsciously, causing Jonny to gasp, widening his legs a bit. He wants-

It’s a tiny movement, not much, but there’s no way Patrick misses it. “I’m…” he halts, looking back at his hand, then back at Jonny, like he’s trying to make the connection too, between what he’s doing and with whom and why. “I don’t-” he shakes his head, suddenly confusion overriding anything else that might have been there. He seems helpless and unsure, but he doesn’t remove his hand, in fact grinds the heel of it down, causing Jonny’s dick to harden further.

“Hey, hey,” Jonny swallows, ignoring his need to roll his hips up into the touch, getting some more friction. He needs to- This is not-

Patrick is confused. He knows that, Jonny knows that, this is not him- This could ruin things, this is- It’s the playoffs, it’s the fucking playoffs and they need to focus. This is not-

Hockey first.

He cups Patrick’s jaw, rubbing one thumb underneath Patrick’s eyes. There’s no wetness there, but there’s a suspicious sheen in his eyes. “It’s- It’s okay. It’s just me. It’s- It’s okay, Pat.”

There’s no answer from Patrick, at least not a verbal one, not for several moments. He just stares at Jonny with those damn blue eyes of his, his lashes casting shadows on his pale face and then he-

Jonny feels like he’s choking when Patrick lets his head drop back in his lap, just like this, like he’s not well aware of Jonny’s hard on, like this doesn’t press his cheek right against it. “We need to win.” Patrick mumbles against Jonny’s thigh, making him shiver. “We need to win tomorrow, Jonny.”

“I-” Jonny swallows, slowly moving his hand to Patrick’s curls, threading his fingers through the sleep tousled hair. “I know. We will. We’ve-” He momentarily has to cut himself off when Patrick hums as he shifts into Jonny’s touch, the movement causing Jonny’s dick to twitch where it’s trapped in his sweatpants and under the side of Patrick’s head. “We’ve got what it takes. We can- We can do it.”

Patrick mumbles something unintelligible, then tilts his head, blinking up at Jonny, brow furrowed, lips parted. Jonny wants to kiss him so badly it’s making his head spin.

“Why are your eyes like that, Jonny?” he asks sounding winded, like he’s been forced to skate bag for hours, his words nothing but mumbling, like he’s still half asleep. Maybe Patrick thinks this is a dream, maybe it is. Maybe it’s Patrick dreaming and Jonny’s just-

“Like what?”

“Like that.” Patrick answers nonsensically, letting out a deep breath. “Just-” he starts, the shakes his head. “We’ll win, yeah? Tomorrow. We’ll win.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, doesn’t seem to need or want one, because suddenly he sits up, straightening and cracking his back. “I gotta-” he gestures into the direction of the guest bedroom. “Sleep. Yeah. I should- See you tomorrow, Cap. Go Hawks.” He does some ridiculous salute and pads away somewhere into the darkness of Jonny’s hallway.

It takes Jonny a couple of minutes to process what has just happened, at least enough to get himself to move to his own bedroom, where he drops face first into the mattress, head spinning and dick still achingly hard. He needs to think about this, he knows that, needs to really recap what happened, what might have lead Patrick to do it, what it means for him, for them, but it’s late and they’ve got a game tomorrow. It’s the playoffs, Jonny doesn’t have time to be confused, doesn’t have any energy to spare. So he pushes it back too, jerks off quickly before crawling underneath the covers to catch the last few hours of sleep this night has to offer.

They win game 5 with a smashing 5-1, followed by a 4-1 victory in game 6 that wins them the series. For the first time in over ten years the Blackhawks advance to the Stanley Cup semifinals. They fly out to Vancouver two days after their last game against the Flames and during those two days Patrick acts like nothing has happened at all. He doesn’t mention it, not with one word, but he picks up a pretty brunette at the post game 6 celebrations so Jonny guesses he either doesn’t remember it and Jonny’s been wrong about maybe Patrick liking him back, or it’s him trying to compensate once again, dealing with his confusion.

 Jonny tries to not let it get to him too much and just spends the evening talking with Seabs and Duncs.

There’s something to be said about rivalries within the NHL and the Hawks have their fair share of hated teams, which hate them in return but the Canucks push it to another level. The series is brutal and Jonny is far from proud of some of the things he does in the heat of the moment, adrenaline riding high and anger boiling in his blood. He hits his personal low in Game 2. They win, tying the series 1-1, but it’s a fight from the first second to the last, even if the scoreboard, showing 6-3 when the final buzzer sounds, would suggest otherwise. Vancouver scores twice in the first period and Jonny already sees it going down like game 1 where they’d fought their way back from a 3-0 only to lose 5-3 in the end anyway.

Sharpy scores twice in the second and Boland once. Three more goals in the third, Patrick among the scorers, get them the win, but Jonny lands himself a total of 12 penalty minutes for roughing against that piece for shit Burrows. It’s a misconduct too and every second in the box feels like an eternity. Jonny doesn’t think he could have forgiven himself if his stupid ass behavior, fueled by his head being somewhere else and the pent up frustration from the lost game and the vicious Vancouver crowd, had cost them the game. He gets yelled at by Q for almost half an hour after the game, but he knows he deserves every second of it, so he just grits his teeth and slumps his shoulders, taking it for what it is. Patrick is mad at him too and Jonny is embarrassingly thankful for it, because it means Patrick doesn’t go partying after their win, but instead spends the evening being mad at Jonny which eventually leads to him ‘forcing’ Jonny to watch some of his recorded desperate housewives episodes with him.

They don’t win the next game –their first home game of the series- but they push it to game 6 nonetheless. And game 6 is beautiful. Sure, it’s still messy at times, but after Vancouver scores first Chicago answers with three goals in a row, one from Patrick, one from Jonny, putting them in the lead. But the Canucks wouldn’t be the Canucks if they didn’t fight their way back into the game, claws and teeth and ugly penalties, but in the end it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because of Patrick. Patrick wins it for them. Patrick scores. And Patrick scores again. It’s hat trick. A bloody damn hat trick, the first of Patrick’s NHL career and it’s in a playoffs game against the fucking Canucks. Jonny yells himself hoarse alongside with the Chicago crowd, celebrating their team making the western conference finals for the first time since 1995. It feels like a dream and it continues to do so when Patrick basically jumps into Jonny’s arm in the locker room, yelling into his ear about how they can do it, how he’s sure they can do it, how he held his promise, scoring a hat trick.

A year ago their season had been already over and now they are here, heading into the third round of the Stanley Cup playoffs, only one series away from the finals. And Jonny is so incredibly sure they can make it.

But they don’t.

It’s not enough.

 _They_ aren’t good enough.

Detroit beats them in just five games. They push it to Overtime three times. One that they win, but in the end Detroit just plays better hockey, in the end nothing matters but the crushing disappointment Jonny feels choking up his lungs as he skates off the ice while the Detroit crowd celebrates their team advancing to the finals for the second year in a row with ear-deafening noise that burns like scalding hot water on Jonny’s skin. The media is on him for what feels like hours. He’s the captain, he’s one half of the franchise’s face, they want answers, juicy soundbites, some emotions. They all want a piece of him but Jonny doesn’t feel like he has anything left to give. He just feels so so tired and sad and angry at himself for failing to push himself far enough and not being the captain this team needed.

He’s the last one to finish his shower and the locker room is mostly empty when Jonny steps out. Patrick is still there though, waiting next to Jonny’s stall, typing away on his phone.

“Was beginning to think you were planning on drowning yourself in there.” He says, but the joke falls flat, neither he nor Jonny have the energy to muster up a smile.

“And die in fucking Detroit? Nah.” Jonny towels off his hair, shooting Patrick a glance. “At least you can shave that ugly ass beard off now. You look like some drug dealer-farmer crossbreed.”

It’s a weak chirp, delivered without any force or quick wit, but Patrick cracks a smile anyway, shoving his index finger against Jonny’s neck in response.

“At least I don’t look fucking amish like you, Toews.”

Jonny catches his finger and for a moment the stare at each other. Then Patrick adds: “I was looking forward to seeing how bad it would get.”

Jonny swallows, slowly letting go off Patrick. “Yeah.” He says quietly. “Me too.”

“Next year.” Patrick licks his lips, nodding. “Next year we’ll see the full extent of that monstrosity. I know it.”

“Do you?”

“No. But I  _know_  it.”

“Okay.” Jonny lets out a deep breath. They need to get ready. Their bus to the airport is leaving soon and then it means flying home to Chicago, cleaning out their lockers, facing the media again, making arrangements, going home. Patrick is still looking at Jonny, almost like he’s waiting for something, head titled just the slightest bit and despite the exhaustion visible in every muscle, despite the disappointment written in each of his features, he still looks unfairly good. Jonny still thinks about kissing him almost every night before he goes to sleep.

He thinks about it now.

He always thinks about it.

It’s going to be a long summer.

He throws a glance around the room. They are almost the last ones left. “That night before game three against the Flames…” He pauses, studying Patrick’s face. “We should talk about that.”

Patrick bites his lip, but he doesn’t turn away, doesn’t avert his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe…” he lets out a shaky breath. “Maybe we should.”

He turns around then, shouldering his gear bag. He’s already halfway through the room, before Jonny’s hammering heart lets him speak again, just one word: “When?”

Patrick turns around and shrugs. “Dunno. I leave Chicago tomorrow. Spend some time with the fam, you know?” He waves his phone around. “Also some Buffalo buddies. I promised I’d- It’s… yeah.”

It’s quite remarkable, Jonny absentmindedly notes, how up until barely an hour ago Patrick couldn’t have known his summer would start tomorrow, but he’s already got a packed schedule that doesn’t leave any space for Jonny. It doesn’t matter though, if it’s a lie or not. And Jonny frankly doesn’t have the energy to be upset about it right now.

“Right.” He says tonelessly, fishing his shirt out of his stall and pulls it on quickly. “See you at the convention then I guess.”

When he looks up he finds Patrick hesitating. “Jonny, wait-”

“Yeah?”

Patrick bites his lip, his eyes flickering to Dustin who’s very pointedly busy with tying his shoes.

“We gave it our best. Just because we don’t make it this year doesn’t mean we can’t do it next year.”

Jonny nods, tries to shrug nonchalantly, but it ends up just feeling sad and defeated. “I guess, yeah.”

“Just...” Patrick opens his mouth, closes it, pokes at his lower lip with his tongue. “See you at the convention.”

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a comment :)
> 
> XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
> SPOILER WARNING for the comment section of this chapter. If you don't want to get spoiled, don't read the comments here!!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX*****WARNING*****XXXXXXXXXXX*****WARNING*****XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
> 
> Okay, so a couple of things about this chapter so none of you can tell me I didn't warn you:
> 
> I published this fic with the tag: 'author CHOSE to not use archive warnings'. Now, that doesn't mean that there are no things in my fic that would warrant a warning. It means that I chose to withhold the specifics for reasons of suspense and such. That's what this means, so any, ANY of the things that can be warned about using the tag system, could potenially happen in this fic. Just so you know. If you want to make sure ahead of time if this is for you, message me on my tumblr (catofthecanals289) and ask.
> 
> Okay, now regarding this chapter:
> 
> There is description of blood and maybe a bit of gore in this chapter. A character has a wound. Let me put it that way, it's a continuation of a flashback scene we had in the chapter before this. If you read the book, you know what's coming. If you didn't, I urge you, think about if any of the warnings are a deal breaker for you. And then ask me if any of them ARE a problem for you.
> 
> There is also a scene where older Patrick does soemthign to Jonny that is not okay. Jonny calls him out on it, and Patrick knows it was wrong,a nd I'd hope the reader also knows that I am in no way insinuating that this kind of behaviour is okay. An explanation (not excuse!!!) will follow further down the line in a later chapter. Because there is an explanation. And lets keep in mind, that no one not even future Patrick is perfect, and sometimes thing shappen that have people act out of whack. Sometimes it pays off to do some math and think about from what time our dear Patrick is coming and what's happening there right now.
> 
> Okay, now that that is out of the way, I hope you enjoy this chapter nevertheless :)

**_ Jonny is 21 and Patrick is 26 and 21 and 20 _ **

 

Almost a month has passed since their third round exit against the Red Wings and Jonny is mostly done licking his wounds and feeling sorry for himself. He’s been in loose contact with the guys from the team, has even driven out to British Columbia with Duncs one weekend to meet up with Seabs, playing a bit of street hockey with old friends of Seabs’. Patrick’s went on a vacation to Hawaii with his family, sending Jonny countless of emails with pictures attached and long ramblings about everything and nothing. He complains about some surf teacher supposedly hitting on Erica, which Patrick of course objects to. He doesn’t bring up the night before game three or the promised conversation about it and neither does Jonny, but he’s not cutting Jonny out and ignoring him, which in itself is a win. It’s something Jonny has started worrying about approximately three days into his summer. Patrick hadn’t been able to pull the same shit like after the phone call last summer, but only because they’d been in the middle of a playoffs run, so a part of Jonny had worried that once all the pressure and tension was gone Patrick would find the time to freak out and fall back into old patterns. But so far nothing of the sort has happened. Still, Jonny is missing him, present Patrick, Patrick in general, but also and most of all Patrick his boyfriend.

He dreams of Patrick a lot. Vivid dreams, dreams of them together, dreams of them apart, dreams of red sprinkles in white snow and Jonny in a house he doesn’t recognize calling Patrick’s name without avail until he wakes up, bathed in cold sweat in his own bed, his mother’s hand on his shoulder, telling him he’s been screaming.

He can’t fall back asleep that night, too rattled and shaken, so he spends it working out in the basement and if his mother looks at him funny the next morning and David starts another campaign of ‘I’m your brother you can talk to me’ then so be it. It’s not like Jonny actually knows what to talk about, excerpt for him feeling restless, for his heart racing for minutes at a time with no apparent reason. Things just feel off and Jonny can’t put his finger on it.

He dreams of Patrick calling his name and his breath fogging in the icy winter air.

He dreams of the woods.

Jonny starts feeling off balance during the day too and no amount of working out, hanging with his Winnipeg buddies or going fishing helps him shake it off. Things only start to get weirder when he returns from a run on a Monday morning, finding a future Patrick sitting on his bed, dressed in Jonny’s clothes, skyping with his younger self on Jonny’s computer. It’s- It’s all kinds of bizarre and Jonny is half inclined to turn on his heel walk out the door and walk back in because there is no way that his mind isn’t playing tricks on him right now, the sleep deprivation of the past weeks finally catching up on him with a full blown hallucination.

“Oh, hey. It’s Jonny.” Future Patrick exclaims when he catches sight of him, still standing in the doorway probably looking more than just a little dumbfounded. Patrick –present Patrick- who’d been talking cuts himself off and future Patrick takes the laptop, turning it around so the webcam can catch the full image of Jonny staring at them like an idiot.

Present Patrick is frowning a little, but smiles after a second, giving Jonny a wave. He’s in his room of the house he has rented for his family (Jonny recognizes as much from their previous skype sessions). He’s also wearing one of his god awful Hawaiian shirts, that of course is far too big on him.

“Hey, Tazer. ‘sup?” he grins and then loudly protests when his older self turns the laptop back around so the webcam, the screen and in extension Patrick are facing the headboard of Jonny’s bed, instead of the room. Future Patrick has a mischievous glint in his eyes as he climbs off the bed and tiptoes over to Jonny. He raises one finger to his lips then presses a quick and silent kiss on Jonny’s mouth, smiling softly. It’s not much, but it helps, Jonny feels more settled than he has in over a week.

He’s a little too overwhelmed to kiss back properly though, his brain struggling to catch up with the scene before him. As far as Jonny knows Patrick still isn’t the biggest fan of future versions of him despite them having been quite tame with each other in recent history, but them skyping? In Jonny’s room? What.

“You stink.” Future Patrick says then, drawing Jonny back out of his head. He makes a show out of wrinkling his nose and patting Jonny’s cheek condescendingly. “Go take a shower. I’ll keep mini me company until then.”

“What-”

“Jonny?” Patrick’s voice comes from Jonny’s laptop. “What are you guys talking about, don’t fucking ignore me! Hey! Turn me around. Just because I’m living the life on a beautiful beach with beautiful girls-” future Patrick rolls his eyes- “-doesn’t mean you can ignore me!”

Future Patrick gets up on his tip toes again, softly cradling Jonny’s jaw before pulling him down a little so he can mumble in his ear: “I was just hanging out, waiting for you. He called. It’s fine. Go take your shower, baby.”

Jonny nods mechanically.

Last night he’s had a dream about two Patricks and not the fun kind. He barely remembers anything except his own tears on his cheeks, and again, his heart beating to his throat.

Future Patrick raises his eyebrows, pokes Jonny in the stomach.

Right.

“Uh,” Jonny walks over to the bed, turning the laptop around so Patrick can see him. “I’m gross right now, I’ll take a quick shower, okay?”

“Oh.” The Patrick on screen does a quick once over of Jonny’s sweaty hair and probably pretty disgusting looking shirt. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just-” he gestures to himself in a way that Jonny has no idea what it’s supposed to mean. “Have fun. Don’t talk to strangers.”

Future Patrick snorts. Jonny is just confused.

The shower that follows is probably the quickest Jonny has ever taken since he’s learned how to use a shower on his own. Unless it’s after games, Jonny usually likes to take his time, enjoys the way the hot water loosens up his muscles and makes his skin prickle, but not today, not when after weeks of no Patrick there are suddenly technically two Patrick’s in Jonny’s bed room. Which in itself is- well.

He forgoes a shirt and just pulls on a fresh pair of shorts, rubbing his hair with a towel as he walks back into his room. Future Patrick is still there, stretched out on Jonny’s bed, talking in soft murmurs with the Patrick on screen. He looks up when he hears Jonny come in, his eyes raking over Jonny’s bare torso for a second, before smirking then clearing his throat.

“Jonathan, my dearest. Why don’t you come over here real quick?”

He sounds a little odd so Jonny follows the invitation to his own bed a little suspiciously, sitting down on the mattress next to future Patrick, expecting to see present Patrick on the screen of his laptop.

He _does_ see Patrick. A Patrick. But it’s not the Patrick of Jonny’s time, it’s not the Patrick that had been there mere minutes ago, before Jonny had went to take a shower. This Patrick looks young, younger than the version next to Jonny right now, but he isn’t from the present either. He’s got that godawful mullet hair future Patrick sports sometimes and a reddish blonde beard covering his cheeks and chin, not unlike Patrick’s playoffs beard from May. He looks- different.

“What the fuck?” Jonny blurts out, causing the Patrick on screen to roll his eyes while future Patrick chuckles. “What the- I- He travelled? Present you travelled and-” He gestures helplessly to the bearded Patrick. “He- I mean another you showed up? What?”

“Looks like it.” Says the Patrick next to Jonny while the Patrick on screen merely shrugs, taking a bite of something that looks suspiciously like a burrito. Which is definitely not in their diet.

“My head hurts.” Jonny mumbles, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. It’s not even a lie. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy any Patrick’s company. He does, he really does, but he also- Patrick –a future Patrick that kisses Jonny, that loves him- is right there, on the bed with him and Jonny can’t do anything with him, can’t scoot closer, can’t let himself be wrapped up in his embrace, let him make all the jumbled pieces under Jonny’s skin slot back into place. He can’t because there’s another Patrick on screen that is watching them of which Jonny has no idea of he knows of the nature of the relationship he shares with Jonny. That other Patrick’s now got a tiny frown between his brows, almost like he can ready Jonny’s mind, eyes following Jonny’s gaze to the older Patrick and back.

“C’mon, Jonny.” Future Patrick mumbles, irritating Jonny by scooting an inch away, which is the exact opposite of what Jonny wants and needs. It’s weird, makes Jonny feel ever more out of his depth. It’s not like he was going to jump him right there in front of the webcam, what the hell. Future Patrick is staring at the Patrick on screen, his good mood from early seemingly gone completely.

“What? I-” He stares at the younger Patrick, then at future Patrick. He has no clue what to do with this situation, what they want from him. What he does know however is that Patrick is decidedly too far away from him so he reaches out, tugging at Patrick’s wrist where he’s sure the webcam won’t capture it.

Future Patrick looks at him, gives a tiny headshake then looks back at his younger self on screen, his gaze strangely… sympathetic? The Patrick on screen is quiet, lips slightly parted while his eyes dart back and forth between Jonny and future Patrick once again.

None of them say anything for a heartbeat, then two, then three, then four-

“Patrick?” Jonny asks hesitantly, but Patrick doesn’t look at him, he’s still looking at the screen. “Hey, Pat, what-” he reaches out again, this time for Patrick’s shoulder, furrowing his brow. “Everything okay?”

It’s pure instinct, nothing but his subconscious that has Jonny reach for Patrick’s hand with his other. He knows that Patrick likes touch, that it grounds him and he’s being so weird and Jonny is _feeling_ weird, so maybe-

He must have been wrong about the webcam, because future Patrick squeezes Jonny’s hand back, but only for a second, before his eyes land on his younger self on screen, whose eyes are transfixed on their hands.

Future Patrick retracts his hand immediately and Jonny probably does a shit job at hiding the hurt that he can feel flashing through his eyes. This doesn’t make sense. Sure, touching like this might be a bit odd, but even Jonny and present Patrick are affectionate with each other and-

“Okay so, uhm.” Jonny clears his throat, rubbing his neck. “This has been fun, but unless there’s something you wanted to talk about-” he shrugs, unsure. The Patrick who initiated the call isn’t there anymore and this Patrick doesn’t exactly seem to have a lot to say, in fact his slightly confused expression from earlier has progressed into something downright gloomy and the Patrick in Jonny’s room seems to be in a foul mood all of sudden as well. It’s just fucking weird and things don’t feel right at all. For a second Jonny wonders if this is a dream too.

Patrick’s –the one on screen’s- expression darkens and future Patrick opens his mouth, but before he or Jonny can say anything the call is ended from the second Patrick and Jonny and his Patrick are faced with a black screen and silence.

“Oh,” Jonny huffs out, frowning slightly. This has been kind of abrupt, but also- He turns around, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It feels like it’s been forever and now he’s finally alone with a Patrick that is his boyfriend and maybe if he kisses him, maybe if Patrick kisses him back, maybe then things will start to feel normal again, and not so off and out of focus, so Jonny pushes the confusion left by the other Patrick aside, going in straight for a kiss, which is reciprocated by Patrick for a few seconds before he pulls back, sort of glaring at Jonny.

One thing that Jonny has come to rely on, or rather expect, is that future Patrick is always on Jonny’s side, no matter which version of him it is. He comforts Jonny and gets angry with him, for him, and sure, he tells Jonny when he’s wrong, doesn’t just let Jonny win, he argues and bickers and fights, but in the end he’s always got Jonny’s back, he’s on his side. Even when future Patricks had been pissed and angry, they’d never made Jonny feel like it was truly him they were upset with, but rather the general situation or sometimes even himself. So now that it actually does happen Jonny is entirely unprepared for it.

“What the fuck, Jonny?” Patrick snaps. “Could you actually have been more of a dick or-?”

“What?” Jonny sits back on his heels. “What are you talking about? It wasn’t like he had anything to say and he- _He_ ended the call.”

“Yeah, before _you_ could!”

“Are you- Are you mad at me?” Jonny asks, feeling increasingly irritated. “I didn’t-”

“That was me right there, Jonny.” Patrick snaps, gesturing to the laptop, “That was me and you just completely brushed me off, ignored me for-”

“For _you_!” Jonny stares at him. “I just- You are here and I missed you and I wanted to-”

“What? You wanted me to fuck you?” Patrick lets out a cruel laugh that has Jonny feel hot with shame. “Well newsflash, but being a fucking asshole to me, isn’t the way to go for that.”

“I wasn’t being an asshole! You are blowing things way out of proportion.” Jonny defends himself, because he hadn’t been an ass. Sure, he’d been kind of curt, but- “Screw you, what the fuck is your problem?”

“Do you even know what it does to him? Seeing you making heart eyes at me. Do you think he doesn’t notice?” Patrick hisses and suddenly he’s on Jonny, pinning him to the bed, with his hands on Jonny’s wrists. “No, because you don’t stop to think for a second. It’s always about you, Jonny. You just want to fuck, right? But I- I remember. I remember being him and I remember seeing you with me and I-”

“I didn’t do anything!” Jonny repeats, squirming a little but Patrick only tightens his grip and Jonny, shamefully so, squirms some more for a completely different reason than his wrists aching. “I didn’t.”

Patrick notices, of course he does and when he leans down, capturing Jonny’s lips in a quick yet fierce kiss, Jonny almost thinks he’s done being weird, but then he bites down, causing Jonny to hiss, bottom lip throbbing, with pain. “No, you didn’t. But you wanted to do _something_. You fucking wanted to and you didn’t give a shit about mini me.”

 _No,_ Jonny wants to protest, of course he cares, of course he gives a shit, but the truth is he’s never been faced with two Patrick’s at once before, except that one time on the phone and he didn’t have to choose then. Now there had been two Patricks and one of them had been a Patrick Jonny doesn’t even really know and the other is Jonny’s boyfriend then it’s not a hard choice at all, as horrible as the thought makes Jonny feel. “I missed you.” Jonny whispers instead. “You keep being so confusing. You almost give me a hand job and then you pretend nothing happens and then you say we would talk but fuck off to Hawaii and I just-” He reaches up, tangling his fingers in Patrick’s hair, tugging desperately. “I just miss you so much. All the time.”

Patrick shifts above him, but he tilts his head back when Jonny tries to kiss him. He sits up on his knees, letting go off Jonny’s hands, but his thighs are bracketing Jonny’s waist and the weight of Patrick on his hips is keeping him in place anyway. “I know.” He says, moving one hand to Jonny’s neck, fingers brushing over Jonny’s Adam’s apple, feeling him swallow. “I know because it’s so so obvious in the way you look at me. _Me_. Not him.”

“I-” Jonny stares up at him. “What do you want from me? You are my boyfriend. I love you, I-”

Jonny cuts himself off when Patrick wraps his hand –those strong, deft fingers- around Jonny’s throat. He doesn’t push, doesn’t squeeze, but it’s still- Jonny’s heart is hammering in his chest like crazy as he’s staring up at Patrick, finding his stormy blue eyes staring back. Every last thought in his head comes to a screeching halt and for a moment Jonny forgets how to breathe.

He’s never- Patrick never- It feels surreal, like it’s just another of Jonny’ fucked up dreams, because he Patrick would never-

There are a lot of things Jonny doesn’t know, a lot of things he’s unsure about, but one thing he’s never even _thought_ to be sure about is that Patrick would never hurt him intentionally. And he’s not. But he could. His hand is around Jonny’s throat and if he-

“Pat,” he whispers hoarsely, slowly, carefully, moving his hand to Patrick’s wrist. “Get off of me.” He swallows. “Now.”

There’s not a second that Jonny doubts Patrick will do it, but there’s still a surge of relief rushing through him when Patrick rolls off of him immediately, a whispered ‘fuck’, falling from his lips as he hides his face behind his arms.

Jonny doesn’t say anything for a few long minutes, just breathing, one hand on his throat where Patrick had been touching him only moments ago. He doesn’t know why but there are tears stinging in the corners of his eyes.

“Don’t,” Jonny whispers, trying to even out his breathing, “Don’t you ever do that again, Patrick. I swear to god, I love you, but-”

“I wasn’t-” Patrick mumbles from behind his hands, “I wasn’t gonna- Jonny, you must know that.”

“Of course I know that.” Jonny sits up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He inhales then exhales deeply before turning around to face Patrick, tugging his hands away from his face. If he can’t hide so can’t Patrick. “I know that, but you still scared me. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to be rude to younger you. I didn’t- I’m sorry, okay? But- Don’t do this again.”

Patrick groans, averting his eyes from Jonny’s gaze. “I know you didn’t.” He says meekly. “I just snapped. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just remembered being in his shoes, seeing you with me on that screen and-”

“Does it-” Jonny interjects, suddenly terrified for a completely different reason. “Does it fuck things up? You seeing- Me being rude? I- Does it-”

“It may make things more complicated…” Patrick says quietly after a moment, looking utterly miserable.

Jonny stares at him. “Then why didn’t you warn me? Why didn’t you- Before when I- When there was still present you skyping with us?”

“Because I didn’t recognize the scene at first.” He looks away for a moment and Jonny can see him swallowing, fingers flexing in his lap. “I didn’t- When that me that you saw -that second me, when he shows up it’s just me- me now- on screen and I—I don’t know I mix shit up sometimes and then you came back from your shower and you were so- I just flipped.”

“But it’s not-” Jonny hesitates, fiddling with a loose thread on his bedding. “It’s not bad right? It’s not… you know?”

“I can’t tell you that.” Patrick says and Jonny seriously considers kicking him out of his bed and house right this second, because how fucking hypocritical. He just dumped a huge load of half information and hints about the future on Jonny and now when Jonny is positively freaked out –even more so than before- he refuses to say anything else and that’s just- It’s so unfair. When he tells Patrick that, Patrick just nods, not even having the decency to object and justify himself. Instead he just kisses Jonny, kisses him until his anger melts away and he manages to push all those conflicting emotions away, just letting his body focus on Patrick’s body, on the way he makes him feel, on the tender touch he knows and loves.

They make love, slowly and passionately, with more kisses and gentle touches than Jonny’s brain can process. It feels like a promise and apology at once and leaves Jonny feeling breathless and his head spinning.

Present Patrick doesn’t call back that day or the day after and future Patrick disappears almost directly after coming inside of Jonny, without another word of explanation.

It’s Jonny who calls Patrick back in the end, and he doesn’t know what’s so different from all their other skype calls since the season ended, but it makes Jonny feel grounded, telling Patrick about having weird dreams (even if he leaves out any specifics and Patrick makes a joke about having had a fucked up sex dream involving Disney’s Mulan and Simba). That night, after having talked to Patrick for almost three hours, Jonny falls asleep and for the first time in weeks he doesn’t dream, waking up ten hours later, feeling rested and awake with a text from Patrick waiting on his phone asking if he wants to come to Chicago a couple of days early so they can hang out before the convention.

Jonny texts back a simple _yes_ , receiving a string of smiley faces and a thumbs up in return.

 

***

 

**_ July 2009, Jonny is 21 and Patrick is 20 and 35 _ **

When Jonny unlocks (or rather tries to unlock) the door to his condo he finds it already open. For a second Jonny freezes, frowning, with every muscle tense because he knows he didn’t leave his door unlocked when he left for Winnipeg after their playoffs exit. Then he catches sight of a pair of beat up sneakers though, carelessly tossed next to Jonny’s shoe-rack like always and he instantly relaxes. He quietly toes off his own shoes, carefully placing them on the shoe rack that exists for that exact purpose, before picking his bag back up and slowly making his way into the living room.

There’s Lady Gaga’s Pokerface playing from the speakers and Patrick is sitting cross-legged on the couch, playing something that looks suspiciously like some Tekken rip-off on Jonny’s xbox with a half empty plate of spaghetti on the couch table. That and a couple of empty Froyo-cups. Jonny internally shakes his head and puts down his bag silently, crossing his living room as silently as he can.

“I see you are practicing for a second career in breaking and entering.” Jonny says easily, leaning over the back of his couch, causing Patrick to jump, almost falling off the couch in the process of turning around as fast as humanly possible.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jonny!” Patrick curses, glaring at him, but not unkindly. There’s already a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not very polite to sneak up on people, what is wrong with you?”

“It’s also not very polite to break into other people’s homes.” Jonny points out, swinging his legs over the back of the couch and slipping into the spot next to Patrick, bumping their shoulders together.

“You gave me a key.” Patrick defends himself, but he reaches for a bowl of raisins –Jonny’s raisins- that’s been previously hidden behind the empty cups, offering them to Jonny. “Besides, I thought you’d be here like, two days ago.”

So had Jonny. And if it hadn’t been for his father breaking his ankle in a way that demanded surgery, which apparently required Jonny’s presence in terms of help and support since David had already booked a vacation get-away with his girlfriend, he would have been. Jonny had not been able or allowed to just fuck off to chill with Patrick in Chicago, screwing their plans a bit. He’d texted Patrick as much and received an affirmative in return so he’d assumed Patrick would have pushed his return to the city as well. Apparently not though. Apparently Patrick had arrived as planned and decided to set up camp in Jonny’s condo instead of his own.

“Something wrong with your place?” Jonny asks casually. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy Patrick being here and they do hang out in Jonny’s place most of the time, despite Patrick explaining to everyone and their mothers how much better his condo is than Jonny’s. It’s not a question Jonny really expects an answer to, just more of a brushoff, an easy joke, a chirp, maybe just an eyeroll and the skipping of the topic, maybe a ridiculous story about bedbugs or something but Patrick surprises him with honest sincerity.

“It’s-” Patrick starts, shifting a little then throwing another raisin into his mouth. “You know. It’s lonely. At my place.” He shrugs.

Jonny frowns. “There was no one here as well. Just as lonely.”

“Yeah maybe.” He gets a head tilt in response. “I don’t know. It’s just… I’ve always lived with people, you know? With my family, in the dorms, with the Bowman’s… It’s weird living alone.”

“You’ve been living alone almost all season.” Jonny points out. Patrick had been so eager at the end of his rookie season to finally get his own place and move out, has been rambling on about how awesome it would be for weeks.

Patrick nods. “Yeah. Well…” he licks his lip. “I’m not very good at it. But I wanted to- It felt grown up, you know? Moving out, buying my own place, living alone and shit.”

“So you went to my place,” Jonny says slowly. Patrick is feeling lonely in his place, has been almost all season and now that he’s come back early with no Jonny or hockey to keep him busy, he’d chosen to go to Jonny’s instead, to- What? Feel less lonely? Because it is Jonny’s place? There’s a strange feeling settling in Jonny’s stomach at that thought, a feeling that makes a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He has to look away.

“Oh whatever, let it go, Tazer. Jeez.” Patrick rolls his eyes reaching for the abandoned xbox controller, tossing it at Jonny. “C’mon. I could use a player 2. You up to get your ass beat?”

Jonny snorts. “Worry about your own ass.” Patrick really isn’t that good at diversions.

“My ass is fine!” Patrick exclaims and Jonny honestly doesn’t know how Patrick could not hear how that sounds.

 _It sure is,_ the juvenile part of his brain answers.

He almost says it out loud.

 

***

 

“Jonny?”

“Mh?” Jonny looks up from where he’s been sorting through the takeout menus that are currently spread out on his carpet, with Jonny leaning against the foot of his couch and Patrick sprawled out on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Your mom is catholic, right?”

Jonny looks up, but Patrick is still just staring at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on Jonny’s carpet. “Uh, yeah. But it’s not like-” He shrugs. It’s not like his mother’s religion has been much of a topic for Jonny in his life. He can’t even remember the last time he’s went to church. It’s quite ironic, now that he thinks about it, how Jonny is walking around with a literal gold cross around his neck while his mother, who’s actually religious, doesn’t.

Patrick hums in response, rolling his head a little so he can shoot Jonny a glance from the corner of his eye. “Do you believe in god, Jonny? Do you think there’s a god?”

“Uhm.” Jonny pauses again, furrowing his brows. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

It’s the truth, Jonny doesn’t know what he believes in, if it’s god, fate, the hockey gods, his own autonomy. What he does know though, is that he and Patrick, they’ve never talked about this kind of stuff and for Patrick to bring it up… well, something’s got to me up.

Patrick sits up then, looking at Jonny, his hair comically sticking up. “But how can you not have thought about it? If your mom’s religious?”

He sounds a tiny bit accusing, causing Jonny to sit up straighter himself. He’s not sure what he’s defending himself against here. “I don’t know, Patrick. It’s not like my mother raised me and David catholic. It’s kinda her thing. Why?”

Patrick shrugs and lies back down on the carpet, like it’s nothing. Jonny doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Do _you_ believe in god, Patrick?”

Patrick is quiet for a few long moments before he says: “I don’t know if I want to.” His voice sounds strangely detached and yet somehow so very vulnerable. When Jonny looks at him he’s got his eyes closed. “Because if I do then I’ll have to believe that he hates me. And he must, right?” Patrick slits one eye open, glancing at Jonny. “To make me this way.”

“I don’t think even god could do that.” Jonny says and it’s too much, he knows it’s too much by the way Patrick’s eyes widen momentarily and the surprised intake of breath, but they’ve been skating the line or a while now and even if they weren’t- Jonny isn’t going to take it back. Jonny might not know if he believes in god, but he knows that the god his mother believes in is a god of love, not hate. But it’s difficult too, Jonny gets that. Asking why, it’s dangerous because to Patrick the travelling is a curse, it’s something horrible, something he hates, something he wishes he could change about himself and he doesn’t have a reason why it’s there, why he is that way.

That Jonny’s gotten to love him because of that very part that it’s their origin and it’s something Patrick hates, it’ll always make Jonny’s chest feel tight. It’ll always make him want to tell Patrick about all the beautiful things it has given him over the years, how it’s a gift too, but it’s Patrick’s ‘curse’, Patrick’s ‘condition’, not Jonny’s to judge and value. Whenever Jonny tries –those handful of times- Patrick has told Jonny very clearly that he didn’t need to be lectured and that had been the end of it. Right now though Patrick is looking at Jonny in a way that doesn’t quite fit and somehow Jonny thinks there must be more to it and Patrick bringing it up means at least some part of him wants to talk about it.

“Patrick, what’s going on?” he asks, scooting over so he can sit next to Patrick’s head.

Patrick shifts a little so his shoulder is pressing against Jonny’s foot. “I helped Jackie get an abortion.”

Jonny halts for a moment, trying to recall the last time he has seen the second Kane daughter. He isn’t completely sure though. Patrick’s family had been at a couple of the Detroit games, but-

“She was pregnant? Shit.” It’s a lame response at best but Jonny isn’t really sure if there’s anything better he could say. He feels a little out of his depth here.

Patrick nods, glancing up at Jonny. He’s fiddling with the hems of his sweater. “She called me one night and she- She was so upset, Jonny. She cried and she- She didn’t know what to do. The guy hadn’t even been her boyfriend. Just a hook up.”

“Of course, she was upset. She’s what? Sixteen?” Jonny finds the idea of knocking a girl up pretty scary in itself, let alone as a teenager. And if he as a guy who doesn’t have to actually _have_ the baby with all the social stigma and shit feels that way he doesn’t want to imagine being in the shoes of a teenage girl, discovering that she’s pregnant.

“I bought her a plane ticket to Chicago,” Patrick continues, “And then I went with her to that place that I got her an appointment at and- Really fucking expensive place, but you know, they are supposedly the best and very discreet. So I- We got… We got it taken care of.”

“She okay now?” Jonny asks carefully and Patrick gives him a tentative smile and a nod.

“She was mostly glad when it was over.” He tells Jonny. “It was… It was during the first round of the playoffs. During- You know… the Flames series.”

Jonny can’t really imagine how it must have been like for Patrick, trying to help his sister with something like this, while having to play his best playoffs hockey and jetting between Calgary and Chicago every few days, enduring media circus and whatnot. And then- That night before game 3…

“…You didn’t… You never said anything…” Jonny begins, because if Patrick had said anything Jonny would have helped, however he could have. Jackie needed her brother and he’d been there for her, but maybe Patrick would have needed someone for himself to talk to as well. Since it’s apparently something that’s still bothering him in some way, enough for him to bring it up pretty much out of the blue.

“She asked me to keep it a secret,” Patrick explains, looking strangely apologetic. “I would have… you know, but I promised.”

Jonny shakes his head, patting Patrick on the shoulder. Jonny doesn’t need an apology. Patrick isn’t obligated to tell Jonny anything. It’s just important to Jonny that Patrick knows that he could. If he wanted to. “I understand that, Pat.” He says giving Patrick a small smile. “But why now, then?”

“Cause it doesn’t matter now anyway. Secret’s out. Jess slipped up and mom found out.” He pauses, drawing in a surprisingly shaky breath and when he blinks up at Jonny there’s hurt –bright and clear- in his eyes. “That’s why I got back to Chicago early. She- She got so fucking mad. My mom. She fucking hates me now, Jonny. My mom hates me.”

“But-” Jonny stares at him, at the tears dwelling in his eyes that he wipes away with his sleeve angrily. Jonny is a bit at a loss. He knows Donna Kane, knows how much Patrick loves her and how much she loves him in return and what a close mother-son bond the two share, so it doesn’t make sense for Patrick to say this, too look so devastated and convinced by it. “No, hey, Pat…” he says a little helplessly, aware of how weak it sounds, but he doesn’t know what else to say. “She’s your mom, she doesn’t- She couldn’t-”

But family doesn’t mean unconditional love, Jonny knows that. He knows that some families are broken and that some just don’t get along, but Patrick’s has always seemed so close-knitted, so loving and earnest. “You helped your sister. That’s not- That’s something good.”

“Yeah. I helped. And with that I killed her grandchild,” Patrick says bitterly then adds, a little softer: “Her words not mine.”

“But-”

“Abortion is a sin, Jonny.” He sits up then, getting on eyelevel with Jonny. Without thinking Jonny reaches out, wiping a single left over tear away with his thumb. “Abortion and homosexuality and divorce. Sins.” Patrick tilts his head and Jonny lets his hand drop to his lap.

For a second they just look at each other.

“But it’s not.” Jonny says eventually, aware of how little word his words hold as a non-believer. “You did good, Patrick. You helped your sister. I would have done the same.”

Patrick lets out a breath, chewing on his bottom lip. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Jonny says earnestly. “I mean David himself probably won’t ever need one, but- You know. You are a good brother. And if your mom doesn’t see that then the problem is with her not you. Or Jackie.”

“She’s my _mom_ , Jonny.” Patrick says, like it means anything, like it’s a reason, a contra-argument and to him it probably is. It must hurt immensely to love someone so much and know that they may love you back, but not unconditionally. Patrick thinks his mom doesn’t love him anymore –even hates him- for helping his sister get an abortion. And if she has the same view on homosexuality and Patrick is struggling with being gay then-

“And it’s easy for you to say anyway.” Patrick continues, making a point of sounding a bit more upbeat, but Jonny doesn’t miss the way his shoulders are still slumped and he’s still fiddling with his hands. Jonny wants to make him stop, take Patrick’s hand in his, calm him with the touch, the physical connection, but- “I reckon you’d be fine, even if your mom exiled you. You are self-sufficient like that.” Patrick cracks an unconvincing smile. “Hell, you’d probably be fine living a hermit’s life in some elusive cabin in the Canadian wilderness. Growing your own corn and shit.”

Jonny doesn’t really know where Patrick’s got the impression that Jonny would be fine with getting kicked out of his family, but he’s probably right about assuming that Jonny isn’t as close to them as Patrick is to his. Still, this is Patrick deviating, so maybe Jonny can indulge him. Even if it’s only for a moment.

“I’d be alone?” he asks.

“C’mon.” Patrick rolls his eyes –already looking a little less teary- jabbing Jonny’s arm with his elbow. “You are good at being alone.”

Jonny looks away. “I’m not though.”

Not at being alone. He’s good at being lonely. But that doesn’t mean he likes it. In fact Jonny hates it, because to him loneliness has always gone hand in hand with missing someone. And that someone has always been Patrick. He still is, even sometimes when Patrick’s sitting right next to him.

“Well, obviously you’d miss _me_ ,” Patrick allows in that joking tone of his that has Jonny pretty sure that he actually does mean what he says but a last bit of doubt remains. “I’d come by twice a year though, being your last contact to the civilized world and all that. We’d eat bear that you’ve killed with your bare hands like the cave man you are.”

“Bear?” Jonny raises his eyebrows. Sometimes Patrick says pretty ridiculous shit, but if it helps him by distracting himself from other topics that feel to heavy and too serious for the moment, Jonny can play along.

“Everything tastes good when it’s fried, Jonny.” Patrick informs him and the smile he gives Jonny feels a bit more genuine.

“So I’d have a chip pan in my elusive cabin? Interesting. Do I get cable TV too? Because you know how I love my fishing documentaries. Can’t miss those.”

Patrick snorts, shaking his head. “You’d be busy fishing all day, you wouldn’t want to watch it on TV too.”

“I don’t know, I pretty much see you every working hour and I still hang out with you after.” Jonny shoots back.

“Are you seriously comparing me to the ugly ass fish they pull out of every fucking lake every time we watch that shit? You wound me, Toews.”

Jonny loves the way Patrick’s eyes crinkle and the mock affront in his voice while he can barely hold back his smile, but as much as Jonny wants him to be happy, he also knows that they can’t just ignore what has gotten them to this point in the conversation.

Jonny clears his throat. “She… Your mom didn’t really exile you though, right?”

There’s a pause, then Patrick shifts, reaching for one of the take-out menus before settling back again, leaning his back against Jonny’s shins. “No, but she… she was really mad. She made it sound like Jackie and I did a really horrible thing, like we- I don’t know, Jonny. She’s my mom.” He halts, biting his lip and shooting Jonny a glance before dropping his eyes back to the menu. “I couldn’t stand her hating me.”

“She wouldn’t,” Jonny says weakly but even he realizes how ridiculous that sounds, because the truth is Jonny doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything about Jackie’s abortion or Donna Kane’s opinions on it. He doesn’t know anything about if he truly hates her son, if she would hate him if she knew what Jonny knows about him, what he thinks Patrick has figured out by now but isn’t always admitting to himself. He just knows that future Patrick’s don’t look as sad anymore as this Patrick does right now and Jonny hopes with everything he has that this means not only Patrick learns to be okay with who he is but his mom does as well. But he doesn’t _know_ , or –and Jonny knows at least that- he’d tell Patrick right now, sending all the rules about spoilers and what not to the wind, because in the end Jonny is weak like that and it kills him to see Patrick so hurt even though he tries to hide it behind weak jokes and even weaker smiles.

“Mhm,” is all Patrick replies, shrugging and dropping the takeout menu in Jonny’s lap. “I don’t care, you pick. As long as I get a fortune cookie I’m set.”

They spend the rest of the day on Jonny’s couch, skipping from one ridiculous show to the next, talking about nothing of substance but that’s how Patrick wants it and Jonny is happy to comply. He doesn’t know what to say anyway, isn’t sure how to make it better for Patrick, if he even can. He’d do pretty much anything for Patrick but making his mom forgive him, giving him the reassurance that things will be alright is just not within Jonny’s capability and it drives him a little mad. There’s also the nagging thought of his own parents that’s been in the back of Jonny’s mind ever since the talk with Patrick. Jonny is pretty sure that his mother doesn’t share the same believes as Patrick’s but he’s been pretty uninterested in her faith so far so the truth is, it’s just another thing he doesn’t know.

There seem to be a lot of those lately.

Later that night when Patrick’s fallen asleep on the couch, face smashed into one of the awful pillows he made Jonny buy, with his legs stretched and one arm hanging off, Jonny calls his mother.

“Jonathan, love.” She greets him. “How are you? How is Chicago?”

“Hello, maman. I’m- I’m good. Thanks.” He rubs his neck, sitting down on the arm of the couch as Patrick mumbles something in his sleep but doesn’t wake. “It’s nice. It’s- yeah.”

He pauses awkwardly, rubbing circles in the fabric of his sweatpants with his thumb. His mother waits patiently on the other end of the line.

When Jonny’s been a kid he’d had trouble with this a lot, talking straight out without any hemming and hawing and it used to frustrate her, but while he’s gotten better at it, she’s gotten better at giving him the time he needs and Jonny is thankful for that.

“Maman?”

“Yes, dear?” she asks softly.

Jonny exhales deeply, eyes flickering over Patrick’s sleeping form. “If I ever brought home a guy instead of a girl, would you hate me for it? Call me a sinner? Tell me I’d go to hell for it?”

His mother is quiet for a moment and all Jonny can hear is her breathing through the phone, then: “Jon, you are my son. My eldest son and from the moment I held you in my arms for the first time after 35 hours of labor I knew nothing you could do could ever change that. Least of all falling in love.”

“Maman…” Jonny says, nonsensically, feeling a little choked up. It’s not something they do, talk about feelings and yet here his mom is, reassuring him so intensely that Jonny can’t help but tear up a bit. It’s nothing he’d been truly scared of up until a few hours ago and even then it had seemed like a strange and abstract concept, his mom hating him, but it’s been a possibility and now that he knows she doesn’t –wouldn’t- he realizes just how scary that thought would have been, even if he and his mom have never been the closest. He feels close to her now, but he doesn’t know how to put it into words.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” She asks then, which Jonny should really have expected but it somehow still catches him by surprise.

“No. Yes. No, I mean-” he trips over his own tongue, before clasping his mouth shut, taking a moment to just let her question sink in. It’s phrased openly, presenting more than just one out, but it’s still clear what she’s asking, what she’s offering an open ear about. Jonny’s gaze finds Patrick again. He’s got his brows slightly furrowed, mouth open a little bit, while his chest falls and rises in slow and even breaths. Jonny sighs, quietly. “Maybe.”

His mother hums in response and there’s some rattling in the background and the soft murmur of another voice. Too late Jonny realizes that she and his father had probably already been in bed and she must have woken herself up to take his call. He blushes, an apology already on his lips, but when he opens his mouth something else comes out:

“But you are catholic.”

“I am,” his mother replies smoothly, forgoing the comment she could have made about him springing this out of the blue, jumping back to his previous question, elaborating it clumsily, after they’ve already moved on. “My faith and tolerance and openness and _love_ aren’t mutually exclusive, Jonathan.” She reminds him, but the tone in her voice is teasing if anything, teasing and soft, not like he’s insulted her. “I understand where you are coming from though. There are many people who would call it contradictory, but, darling, that won’t change what _I_ believe.”

Jonny breathes out deeply. “I love you, maman.”

“I love you too.” She replies easily and Jonny is half way to hanging up, when she asks: “Is it Patrick?”

There’s no accusation in her voice, no pity, no inquiring tone, just a tenderly spoken question and maybe it’s because of that that Jonny freezes only for a second, before his eyes flicker back to Patrick again and he finds himself unable to lie.

“Yes.” Is all he says.

She is quiet for a moment, then: “Does he know?”

For the second time tonight Jonny answers with “Maybe.” It’s the only possible one. There’s nothing between him and Patrick –this Patrick- that he could tell her about, there’s nothing _yet_ and even though Jonny does have feelings for Patrick and he’s pretty sure that at least a part of Patrick has caught up to that, he doesn’t actually know, they haven’t talked about it. There is a _something,_ there is a _maybe_ between Patrick and Jonny. But that’s all it is. All Jonny knows for certain.

Maybe.

“Just be careful,” she says. “He’s a good boy, but this is your career and you’ve never known how to do things halfway, Jon. You love with everything you have, be it hockey or a person, and that’s a wonderful thing. I am so very proud of you and your courage, but it’s also a quick way to get your heart broken. And I worry. It’s a mother’s job to worry.”

Jonny blushes, rubbing his neck. “Maman…” he mumbles. “It’s not- I’m not-”

“I don’t disapprove, honey.” She interrupts him quickly. “Least of all because he’s a boy. Don’t ever feel like you have to be unsure of that. I have dated people of my gender before and so has your father.”

Of all the things Jonny has expected her to say in follow up to her little speech it hadn’t been _this_. He’s glad they are having this talk over the phone and Patrick is still fast asleep so there’s no one there to see him gaping dumbly into thin air at his mother’s revelation. “Really?” he blurts out.

She chuckles softly, making an amused tutting noise. “Jonathan, same sex attraction isn’t exactly an invention of your generation. And neither is bisexuality.”

“No, I- I know, I just-” Jonny stutters, trying really hard not to picture his mother with other women or his father with men, because that’s just- It’s honestly the same as picturing _them_ having sex. Not something Jonny likes to think about for juvenile and childish reasons. “But-”

In the back of his mind he appreciates her telling him this. He’s never really needed the reassurance of hearing his family approving of him being attracted to both men and women but it’s still nice to have it. Strangely enough though, it also makes Jonny feel –irrationally- guilty. Because Jonny gets to have this even though he doesn’t need it and Patrick who’s struggling as it is, gets his mom making him feel like helping his sister is a sin, that the feelings he is having are a sin, that he deserves to be hated for them. It’s not fair, but it’s also once again something Jonny can do precisely nothing about.

“Do you remember my friend Claude?” his mother continues. Jonny hums affirmatively. She’d been a college friend of Jonny’s mother that had dropped by regularly for coffee and chatting when Jonny had been a child. She’d moved to Europe at some point though. “Well, there was a time when she was more than just a friend.”

“Aunt Claude?” Jonny asks, disbelieving. Somehow he’s never even considered-

“Yes Aunt Claude,” his mother laughs. “Do you also remember your father’s friend Norman who-”

“ _Norman_? Maman-”

Jonny is cut off by Patrick stirring, blinking up at Jonny sleepily. “Who you talkin’ to, Jonny? ‘s late. Bed time.” He looks around blearily then, “’m not in bed…”

“Is that Patrick?” Jonny’s mom asks, sounding somewhat delighted.

“Yeah. I’m going to hang up now, maman. Good night and…” he pauses awkwardly. “Thank you.”

She laughs again, but not unkindly. “Goodnight, Jonathan. From your father too. Say hello to Patrick from me.” She hangs up then and Jonny finds himself alone with Patrick.

“Your mom?” he asks, sitting up and stretching his legs, seeming a little more awake.

“Yeah.” Jonny answers quietly, his eyes finding Patrick’s.

“What she say?” Patrick looks away, before glancing back. He’s pretty bad at feigning nonchalance even at the best of times, but he’s even worse at it when he’s still half asleep. Patrick isn’t dumb, he doesn’t need to have heard Jonny’s talk with his mother to be able to guess what it’s been about. Not with their conversation about Patrick’s mother earlier that day and not when Patrick knows that Jonny isn’t really one to call his family often.

“She said nothing could make her stop loving her child.”

Patrick just looks at him for a couple of moments, then: “She said that?”

Jonny nods. “Yeah.”

“But-” He bites his lip and looks away, letting out a deep breath. “Okay.”

 

***

 

“Jonny,” Patrick says, jostling Jonny’s shoulder. Jonny’s lying on his side, dozing a bit since they’ve got half an hour of downtime before they absolutely have to leave for the convention that starts today. Patrick has travelled earlier this morning, just after waking Jonny up by sing-screaming along to Britney’s Spears Womanizer while making breakfast. Jonny had picked up his clothes, finished cooking the pancakes and then put them in the oven to keep them warm for Patrick and went back to bed, hoping that Patrick would return in time. And apparently he has. And he’s demanding attention. Nothing new on that front apparently.

“What?” Jonny grumbles, refusing to open his eyes. The past days have been fun but also immensely frustrating. There’d been the nice part –spending time with Patrick, cheering him up- but also the part that was Jonny being unsure about bringing up the topic of Patrick’s mom or the conversation Patrick had promised him back in Detroit. That and the weird dreams being back, robbing Jonny off his sleep more often than not.

“Guess, where I’ve just been.” Patrick prompts, poking Jonny’s cheek.

Jonny swats his hand away, keeping his eyes firmly closed. “I don’t care.”

Patrick resumes his poking, unperturbed. “But you _do_ , Jonny.”

When Jonny still doesn’t stir Patrick apparently decides to change his method, leaning in closely and fucking blowing air into Jonny’s ear, like the annoying asshole he is.

“Patrick, I swear to god I’m gonna punch you.”

That has Patrick let out a laugh. He seems to be in an exceptionally good mood, despite his travelling. “You can barely open your eyes, dude, how are you-” Jonny hits him with a pillow. “Ow! Damn, Jonny, mini you is much nicer to me.”

Jonny’s eyes fly open and he finds Patrick’s face only inches away from his, grinning brightly. “Mini me?” he echoes.

“Uh-huh.” Patrick nods enthusiastically. “Guess where I just was? I was with you. _Mini you_.”

“But…” Jonny mumbles slowly, not even sure what he’s objecting to as his mind is processing the information. Patrick has travelled back to Jonny. He has finally travelled back to a past Jonny and what has only existed in Jonny’s past and Jonny’s head for so many years suddenly seems on the verge of reality. Patrick has met him and Patrick is excited and for the first time in days there is no hint of sadness in Patrick’s eyes. He just looks happy and eager to share it with Jonny.

“You were six or seven, I think,” Patrick continues, “You showed me your new backpack that had dinos on them. You were so tiny, Jonny.” He holds up his fingers, showing a tiny space between his index finger and thumb. “ _So tiny_.”

“Not that tiny.” Jonny mumbles but he fails to keep the smile of his face. He thinks he remembers the visit in question, but now there’s the added layer of it being Patrick’s first visit making it more special, something little Jonny hadn’t picked up on, too preoccupied with the general excitement of having Patrick visit.

“Yes that tiny.” Patrick insists. “And you were very worried about some test in school or something.”

“I really was worried.”

“I know. You didn’t even want to skate. You-”

“I smuggled you into my room,” Jonny smiles. “We ate cookies and you told me about some math test of yours that you failed in elementary school.”

“You made me!” Patrick points out. “You are a very insistent little kid. Wanting to know all kinds of shit about the future.”

And he’d been successful. He hadn’t gotten anything of importance, but Jonny had been very proud to coax a handful of things out of Patrick. Even if it had been as insignificant as Patrick letting slip how Jonny and he go ice cream eating at some point. It had felt huge at the time. Something real, something tangible. “I took advantage of you being such a young you.” Jonny admits freely. “You didn’t seem to know about the rules yet.”

Patrick fake-gasps. “You sneaky little bastard.” He boxes Jonny in the shoulder, but Jonny manages to catch the second blow, holding Patrick’s wrist while Patrick playfully growls at him, as he tries to free himself.

“You didn’t tell me much though.” Jonny admits, grinning back at Patrick. “And you didn’t stay long anyway.”

“I had to hide under your bed, when your dad came in.”

“Right.” Jonny allows. “I’d forgotten about that.”

Patrick shakes his head, playing affronted, but he manages to tug his wrist free. Instead of letting it drop, he settles on his side, so they are facing each other as they are lying on Jonny’s bed, the soft morning light shining through the window. He places his hand on Jonny’s hip and Jonny’s breath gets stuck in his throat for a moment. It’s just over clothes, not even touching skin, but it’s still-

Patrick seems very close all of sudden.

“I’ve never been so fucking scared of your dad, man.” Patrick says, his tone joking and yet somehow incredibly soft.

Jonny shifts closer.

“I don’t remember you being so young. You always seemed older to me…”

“I guess,” Patrick licks his lips, “When you are a kid, everyone looks kinda old to you.”

Jonny hums in response, feeling his heart beat to his throat as he extends his arm, to brush an unruly curl from Patrick’s forehead. He doesn’t think he imagines the way Patrick shivers a little bit, looking at Jonny through his eyelashes. “I mostly tell time by your hair.” Jonny says, moving his hand from Patrick’s forehead to his hair, tangling it in the curls there so he can cup the back of his head.

“My hair? What about my hair?” Patrick makes a shocked face, but he doesn’t remove himself from Jonny’s touch, doesn’t tell him to fuck off, in fact it seems like he scoots a tiny bit closer, if that’s even possible. “What happens to my hair? God, Jonny, do I go _bald_?”

It’s nothing but an act, they both know how Patrick’s hair will look in five or ten or fifteen years, there’s no secret that it gets a bit thinner, hairline a bit further back and curls maybe a little bit less wild, but it’s not baldness. Far from it. There’s no fun in pointing that out though so Jonny just grins, raising his eyebrows. “You know I can’t tell you that.” Patrick rolls his eyes and Jonny adds, disguising his voice, “It’s not good to know too much about your future.”

Patrick laughs out loud, brightly and uncontrolled and Jonny sticks his tongue out.

“But it’s my hair, Jonny! _My hair_! There’s gotta be a hair exception.”

Jonny crooks his fingers a little –still buried in Patrick’s hair- scraping his nails over his scalp a little. “Nope. Sorry, Kaner.”

Patrick’s fingers on Jonny’s hips spasm a bit and his eyes flutter closed. It’s an unfair advantage, Jonny’s aware of that. He knows from future Patricks how much Patrick enjoys having his head scratched. It’s a little weird –cat-like maybe- but Jonny doesn’t mind.

“You’ve met older you’s,” Jonny whispers, almost like it’s a secret and maybe it is, the way they’ve ignored that fact only a moment ago. “You know how they look.”

“I don’t pay as much attention though…” Patrick says ever so quietly.

The _as much as you_ goes unsaid and it might just be Jonny’s interpretation but it feels like it hangs heavy in the air between them. “No,” he admits. “I guess not…”

“I don’t get it, you know,” Patrick adds his voice barely more than a whisper, after a moment of nothing but them breathing, only inches apart. “Why you? Why do I travel to you and not my sisters or, my parents or… Why you, Jonny? What makes you so special?”

Jonny feels his heart sinking. Slowly, he retracts his hand from Patrick’s hair, not saying anything. Patrick however doesn’t move at all, just his eyes flickering over Jonny’s face like he is searching for something.

“Jonny,” he whispers.

Jonny swallows, “Yeah?”

“You are.” Patrick’s breath is so close, Jonny can feel it on his lips. If either of them moved, just the tiniest bit, the smallest of head tilts, their lips would be touching and Jonny’s blood is alive with it, with the impossible closeness, the echo of his own words from over a month ago. If he kissed Patrick, he thinks Patrick might kiss him back.

“Special, I mean.” Patrick continues and he’s so close, Jonny thinks he can feel the words brushing over his skin. Then after another pause that seems impossibly long: “To me.”

They look at each other and Jonny holds his breath. He brings his hand up, softly cupping Patrick’s jaw and Patrick doesn’t move away, doesn’t look away. His eyes flutter shut and he exhales softly. And Jonny-

The next thing Jonny remembers is a loud crashing noise and both him and Patrick bolting upright, first staring at each other, then in the direction of Jonny’s living room where the noise came from. Shattering glass. Loud and piercing in the silence that seems so incredibly loud all of sudden.

“What the-” Jonny is on his feet within seconds, half running into the living room, different scenarios running through his head and trying to figure out how to subsequently deal with which ever applies. Patrick is following on his heels, but there is nothing in the living room. Jonny starts running nevertheless. Because there’s something in the kitchen.

Or rather someone.

There’s Patrick standing in Jonny’s kitchen, one shaky hand braced on the counter, the shattered pieces of the empty fruit bowl Jonny’s been too lazy to wash yesterday spread before his naked feet. He’s staring at Jonny with wide eyes, face so incredibly pale. And he’s bleeding. He’s got one hand pressed to his stomach but there is blood gushing out between his bloodied fingers, running down his legs, dripping onto the floor.

“Jonny,” he says weakly just as Jonny reaches him and maybe he gives in, maybe it’s just his legs buckling but he falls over not a second to early and if Jonny hadn’t caught him, sinking to his knees with a bleeding Patrick in his arms, he would have hit the ground. Now it’s Jonny kneeling in the sharp shards of shattered glass, but he doesn’t feel a thing. Because Patrick is bleeding. Patrick is gasping for air. Patrick is-

“Pat, Patrick,” Jonny feels like he’s yelling, but he’s not sure. There’s white noise rushing in his ears and there’s nothing but his own hammering heartbeat filling his head. “No, no, Pat, oh god, oh god, what do I-” He presses his hand over Patrick’s on his stomach. It’s the only thing he can think of. He’s got to keep the blood in. There’s blood. There’s so much blood and it’s everywhere and now it’s on Jonny too and it just doesn’t stop coming.

“No, no, no,” he mumbles, making a reach for the dishtowel hanging off one of the drawers. He presses it to Patrick’s wound just as Patrick’s own hand falls away.

Patrick’s eyes are glassy, but they still somehow find Jonny’s and he opens his mouth but nothing comes out, just silent gasps, his ragged breathing going far too quickly. “Patrick, please…” Jonny whispers nonsensically, “Don’t- Here, c’mon stay. Please, Pat. I- What do I do? What do I- Patrick-”

A sudden choked off noise from behind has Jonny’s head snap around, eyes finding Patrick –the younger Patrick, the present Patrick, the one that only moments ago has been lying on the bed with Jonny and now-

He’s staring at his bleeding self, panting for air that just isn’t there, chest heaving and finger twitching where they are hanging limply by his side.

He looks almost as pale as his future self.

“Patrick,” Jonny snaps, but Patrick doesn’t react, his eyes firmly transfixed on the scene before him. “Patrick! Look at me!”

His eyes flicker up to Jonny’s face then, but his expression remains utterly blank.

“Patrick, you need to call an ambulance.” Because Jonny can’t. He needs to keep his hands on the wound. There’s still so much blood coming through and Jonny doesn’t know what to do. He needs to- He can’t- Patrick has to- Patrick-

Patrick doesn’t react.

“Patrick!”

Nothing.

“ _Patrick!”_

Nothing.

“Jonny…” The Patrick in Jonny’s lap mumbles, causing Jonny’s eyes to snap back to him. He looks even paler then before. Something Jonny hasn’t thought possible. He looks even paler then he did that night he almost drowned. Jonny is too scared to think of what that means. “Jonny.”

His fingers twitch again and he looks so helpless, so scared, eyes flickering back and forth erratically.

“Patrick,” Jonny whispers, feeling desperation and fear choking him up until only a strangled sob makes it out. “I’m here. Hey. I’m here, Pat.” He tries to smile, tries for Patrick but he’s not sure if he manages.

He takes one of Patrick’s limp hands in his, squeezing it tightly. “Stay, stay, with me, Pat. C’mon, it’s gonna be- It’s gonna be alright.”

Patrick doesn’t answer, his eyes have fluttered shut, a rattling breath shaking Jonny to the core.

He breathes in, breathes out.

Then it stops. And all Jonny can do is stare helplessly. It doesn’t-

Jonny lets out a choked sob, shaking his head frantically. This can’t be- this can’t- it can’t be happening, it can’t be real, it can’t-

Maybe it’s one of Jonny’s fucked up dreams, maybe, maybe if he- Maybe-

“Patrick! Call a fucking ambulance!” he yells, with tears in his eyes. “Patrick, please.”

Neither Patrick answers. Neither Patrick reacts.

Then Patrick is gone and Jonny is staring at his own bloody hands.

Breathing has never felt so impossible.

It’s then, that Patrick –the one that is left- finally springs into action, stumbling past Jonny and almost slipping in his own blood, barely making it to the sink where he throws up, fingers clenched around the edge of the counter. The sound of him retching is barely audible over the ringing noise in Jonny’s head. Next to his legs are sprinkle of blood on the cupboard Jonny keeps his pots in. Jonny doesn’t know how they could have gotten there. Jonny stares at the sprinkles, stares at his own hands, at the pool of red he’s sitting in.

His head is spinning.

Patrick is still throwing up.

Jonny feels a little like puking too. Except that he can’t bring himself to move. He’s just staring at his hands, the way they are shaking, not feeling like his own. He doesn’t know what just happened, doesn’t _want_ to know, doesn’t even want to think about it, because thinking about it would mean- It would mean-

There’s just so much blood. Jonny doesn’t think there should be so much blood.

He’s seen blood, he grew up going hunting with his father. He knows blood. He plays hockey. Blood doesn’t bother him. But it’s _so much blood._ There shouldn’t be this much blood in a person, should there? There shouldn’t be so much blood _outside_ a person.

There shouldn’t be so much blood.

It’s _too much_ blood.

It’s too much blood for Patrick to still be-

“Jonny,” Patrick says and Jonny’s head snaps up.

Patrick is staring at him, face ashen and blank.

“I need to- I need-” he gestures weakly. “I need to go. I can’t-” he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Patrick-”

Patrick shakes his head again. “I’m sorry.” He says, making his way past Jonny, out of the kitchen. He’s leaving bloody footprints all over the hardwood floor.

The loud thud of the door falling shut makes Jonny flinch, but not as much as the following silence. Now both Patricks are gone.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. There is so much more to come :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, I was at my parents' for Christmas and didn't bring my QE file, so update now, a little late. I hope you guys had a great Christmas, if that's something you do, if not, I just hope you have a great time anyway :)

 

 

Jonny isn’t really sure how long he sits there on the floor, unmoving. Isn’t sure, when he gets up, gets changed, puts band aids on the cuts on his shins, washes the blood of his hands. He doesn’t remember any of it. He doesn’t remember a second of the convention day. It doesn’t even happen like he’s in trance, like he’s watching it happen from a detached point of view. It just doesn’t. Jonny remembers sitting in the pool of Patrick’s blood and the next thing he knows is himself standing in the middle of the living room, the lights of the Chicago night shining through the windows, a whole day gone, staring at the hardwood floor in his kitchen soaked with dried blood and he has no idea how he got here or what happened in those missing hours. He takes a few shaky steps towards the kitchen. There’re still the eggs Patrick cooked this morning in the oven. But it’s turned off. Jonny must have turned it off but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, least of all what to do.

He walks over to the kitchen sink- tries to avoid stepping on the dark stains. Jonny also doesn’t know much about cleaning. He’s never had to do it himself, not really anyway. Back at home his mom did it and while he sometimes helped he just followed her instructions. In Shattuck’s they had a cleaning lady and so did Seabs and Jonny has one now. But he can’t- He stares at the stained hardwood floor- he can’t let anyone see this. He can’t. He has to-

Jonny fills a bucket with water, takes out a pair of rubber gloves, finds a cleaning rag. He isn’t sure if he should use any products. It might ruin the floor, but then again, there’s been blood drying on it for hours, it looks pretty ruined already. Knowing that, Jonny doesn’t really get what makes him kneel down anyway, starting to scrub the floor. It doesn’t do much, except making his arms ache after–what? An hour? Of trying to get rid of stains that have seeped in too deep for too long. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, stares at the clock at the oven, back at the stained floor. He keeps scrubbing, tries to use dish-washing detergent and it helps but only marginally. Jonny keeps scrubbing. It helps him not think. It’s something to do. It’s something to fix. Even though he can’t. There’s nothing to fix. Not the floor and not-

It’s only when Jonny sits back on his heels, wiping sweat of his face with the back of his hand that he realizes he’s crying. But he can’t fix that either so he just lets it happen, lets the tears fall while he’s searching his cupboard for a bottle of bleach he knows he bought at some point –for what he doesn’t remember. He’s read somewhere that bleach removes blood. Bleach also ruins wood and its fumes can be dangerous, but Jonny doesn’t care. He just pours some of it on the floor and starts scrubbing again, ignores the way it makes his eyes itch and his throat burn.

In the end there’s no use to it.

The stain stays and while Jonny manages to clean the sprinkles of blood on the pots cabinet off he can’t stand looking at the floor for another second. He’s also exhausted, feeling it in every limb, but worst of all in his head and his chest that is aching. For a few moments –minutes? –hours? Jonny just stares into empty space. He can’t do anything, but he can’t just walk away from it either. This mess.

At one point he feels a crazy laugh building up in his throat. It’s so ridiculous. He’s standing in his fucking apartment staring –or rather not staring- at a blood spill in his kitchen. Blood from a person Jonny has known his whole life, has _loved_ his whole life. Blood that Jonny had on his hands, had felt pulsing out of a wound.

It looks like somebody got murdered in Jonny’s kitchen. But that’s not true. Somebody died in Jonny’s kitchen. How and why and when, that’s a different question and Jonny doesn’t know the answer. He doesn’t want to know, because he feels so incredibly stupid already.

He remembers sitting on a bed with Patrick, Patrick scared and upset, shaken by almost drowning, whispering about how Erica was right and this time travel thing would kill him and Jonny- Jonny had told him no. Told him that he couldn’t die because Jonny met future hims, that no matter what, they had that certainty and Patrick had believed him had let Jonny and that thought comfort him and neither of them thought a step further. Jonny has never met Patrick as an old man. He has never met him as a 40 or 50 year old man. Never seen him with greying hair and wrinkly face. Never met a Patrick past thirty-five. And he’s never thought about it, never questioned it. Never even considered that-

There’s no forever. Jonny and Patrick won’t ever get a forever, because Patrick dies. Patrick dies in Jonny’s arms, outside his own time and there’s nothing Jonny can do about it. Because it has already happened. It has already happened and each and every Patrick that has ever travelled to Jonny has known it. They had known it and still promised Jonny forever, told him they loved him, told him they’d have a future when in reality-

Jonny sheds the gloves, uses his whole body strength, every last bit of energy remaining in his tired muscles, to push his couch away, the couch table too so he can drag the carpet from the living room –the carpet Patrick had lied on days ago, asking Jonny questions about god and believing- to the kitchen.

It covers the whole stain and Jonny would be grateful for it, if it didn’t remind him of how he and Patrick had argued over it, Patrick claiming the color didn’t match the pillows he picked while Jonny stood his ground pointing out how the pillows didn’t even match with each other. Jonny had prevailed in the end and they’d bought this carpet. It’s a good carpet. Good to sit on, lie on, cry on. A good carpet.

He doesn’t sleep that night, at least he doesn’t think he does. He just lies on the carpet in his kitchen staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how it felt when his chest didn’t hurt with every heartbeat.

He watches the hours tick by and waits for something to happen, for something to click, to change to-

Nothing happens. The sun rises on a cloudless sky and even though nothing has changed Jonny still feels, like something about lying unmoving, on the very floor Patrick bled out on for hours, helped Jonny back inside his own head. He gets up feeling exhausted, but he manages to shower, put on fresh clothes and while he can’t eat in his kitchen he gets something from a breakfast place down the street. Only when he chews, swallows, chews, swallows, repeats, he realizes how hungry he had been. He doesn’t remember if he ate yesterday. He must have, right?

He wonders if Patrick ate.

Jonny knows he must have interacted with Patrick the day before, during the convention, but when he sees Patrick today, almost exactly 24 hours after that moment in the kitchen it’s like he’s seeing him the first time after. A part of Jonny had expected him to look different, somehow changed by what he saw, maybe because Jonny himself feels changed, nothing like the person he was a day ago. But Patrick looks the same as always. He looks good. Tired maybe, but there’s an easy smile on his lips as he laughs with Burr about something Sharpy is saying. If Jonny didn’t know him so well, he’d buy it, wouldn’t notice the way his eyes don’t smile and the tiredness behind it all, because how could Patrick be fine? How could he be laughing and smiling after what he saw, after what he and Jonny bore witness to?

Then again, Jonny played ‘fine’ yesterday too. Still is.

“Patrick,” Jonny mumbles when they are squashed together with a whole flock of Blackhawks in an elevator. He’s not sure what he’s asking for, what he wants, needs, he just knows that Patrick is right there and he hasn’t once looked Jonny in the eyes yet and it’s killing Jonny. On top of everything else Patrick just seems so far away. There are only inches between them, not much more than on the bed yesterday –back when all Jonny could think about was how Patrick’s lips would feel against his own and not washing the smell of blood from underneath his fingernail- and yet he feels so far away.

Patrick’s eyes flicker up to Jonny’s for a moment before looking away again. “Don’t,” he says tonelessly. It feels like a slap in the face.

“Please,” Jonny whispers, but Patrick shakes his head. Sharpy throws them a weird glance. The elevator stops. The door opens. Patrick is the first to walk out.

 

***

 

Jonny is sitting on the carpet in the kitchen, laptop propped up on his knees, looking at flights back to Winnipeg. He hadn’t booked one, not before when things still had been alright because a part of him had hoped, fueled by Patrick’s promise and the electricity between them, that maybe they’d spend a few more days here together, maybe finally talk about this ‘maybe’ between them. And after- after Jonny had hoped that maybe Patrick would stop avoiding. At the convention he’d went out of his way to always be surrounded by a group of guys whenever they weren’t in a panel, never letting Jonny catch him alone. He’d ignored each text and dodged every call and by now Jonny’s tired. He’s so so tired. It’s only been two days, but each more moment of silence from Patrick chokes him up more. He needs Patrick. He needs to talk to him. He needs to see him, see him breathe and move and be _alive_. He needs to be close to him, he wants to feel his heartbeat, wants to feel the rise and fall of his chest, calm and even, not erratic and ragged and _stopping_.

Jonny needs Patrick but Patrick doesn’t seem to need Jonny. Whatever Patrick needs, whatever he does, how he feels, how he deals, Jonny doesn’t know.

What he knows is that he himself isn’t dealing all too well.

He’s slept on the carpet again last night.

The doorbell ringing makes Jonny look up and for a second he just stares in the direction of the hallway before he’s able to make his body move, padding to the door silently.

It’s not Patrick. Of course it’s not Patrick. Patrick has a key and Patrick is avoiding Jonny, Jonny knows that and yet there’s still disappointment welling up in Jonny’s chest when he opens the door and finds Sharpy standing there, scratching his head.

“Hey, Tazer,” he says easily. “Can I come in?”

For a moment Jonny’s inclined to just shut the door again, but Sharpy hasn’t done anything wrong. Sharpy’s just Sharpy and if Patrick has used him as a buffer between him and Jonny over the past two days then that’s Patrick’s fault, not Sharpy’s. Chances are that Sharpy doesn’t even know that something’s been going on, so Jonny just shrugs, stepping aside and letting Sharpy in. He follows him into the living room-kitchen area.

“What do you want?” Jonny asks, crossing his arms. It feels off having Sharpy here. Another person. It feels like somehow Sharpy will be able to tell by just being in this room, that something horrible has happened here. Jonny feels like the very echo of it is still vibrant in the air, filling his lungs, brushing over his skin. It seems impossible that Sharpy wouldn’t feel it.

Sharpy opens his mouth, a witty retort probably already on his tongue, but as he lets his gaze wander through the room he remains quiet, up until his eyes land on Jonny again. He’s got his eyebrows raised. “Doing some redecorating?” he nods towards the pushed aside living room furniture and the kitchen. “I must say: carpet in the kitchen? Bold choice.”

When Jonny doesn’t reply and just stares at him, still waiting for the reason for Sharpy’s little visit Sharpy shifts from one foot to the other. “Did you spill something? It smells a little like bleach in here.”

All Jonny can think is _he knows, he knows, he knows_. The rational side of his brain yells back, that he can’t that he’s just pointing out the obvious, but it still makes Jonny shudder.

His mouth twitches, focusing on keeping those thoughts at bay. Him going crazy is no use to anyone, least of all himself. He walks over, picking his laptop off from the floor and puts it onto the kitchen counter. “Why don’t you ask, Patrick that?”

Sharpy is quiet for a moment, looking at Jonny. Jonny stares back.

“Okay.” He claps his hands together. “Little Peekaboo actually sent me here.”

“Did he now?” Jonny asks, tonelessly. “Why?”

“He’s already on a plane back to Buffalo, but he apparently forgot a couple of his things here at your place,” Sharpy explains. “From when he’s been staying here? He… asked me to mail them to him.”

Jonny snorts, feeling a cold and ugly feeling digging its claws into his stomach. “He asked you to pick up his things. Really?” He kind of wishes the crazy back. At least that he can blame on his own mind. Patrick avoiding him like the plague is a different story.

“Yeah,” Sharpy confirms, looking a little uncomfortable. He’s probably aware of it too, of how bizarre this situation is. Patrick could have called Jonny too, to get his things mailed to him. But he didn’t. It’s almost like a break up, like those Jonny has seen on TV where they send a friend to pick up their things from an ex’s place because they couldn’t stand the thought of maybe running into them.

“Great,” Jonny says dryly, gesturing through the room. “Go, have at it. There’s some in the guest bedroom too. But while you are at it, why don’t you pick up a message for ‘little Peekaboo’ from me too? Tell him he’s a fucking coward.”

Sharpy’s eyebrows shoot up, either at the bitterness of Jonny’s voice or his words. Maybe it’s the combination of both. “Woah.” He holds up his hands. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but you better get a grip until October, okay? I mean, man, if you need to talk, just hit me up, or I’m sure Seabs has an open ear for you too. It’s not-”

“Get a grip,” Jonny echoes. “’Are you serious? Get a grip. There’s nothing to get a grip on. Things are fine, things are peachy, things are fucking great. Why don’t you tell Patrick that he’d know that if he’d come to pick up his things himself, or you know…called me. Texted me. Send me a damn smoke signal. What-fucking-ever instead of running away.”

“Things obviously aren’t fine. I mean-” Sharpy looks around. “I have no clue what happened but you aren’t fine. Peeks isn’t fine and-”

“Of course I’m fine,” Jonny spits, “I’m always fine. Don’t you know that? I’m fucking fine. It’s my job to be fine.” He doesn’t know why he’s so angry all of sudden, at Sharpy of all people, but the words just rise up like bile in his throat and he can taste their poison in his mouth, feels it burning on his tongue. If Patrick would just call Jonny, talk to him, maybe he could- they could- “Tell Patrick that. And tell him I hope he’s fine too. Tell him that I- Tell him that if he wants to be alone then fine, have at it, but he doesn’t need to be. Tell him, that I’m fucking here, that I’m- I know that he’s a runner, but-”

_I’m here. I was there, I saw, I held you, I had your blood on my hands, I know you must be hurting and I can’t even begin to imagine, but I’m here and I need you and if you are alone in this then that’s your choice, because I. Am. Here._

_And I would be there too._

_For you._

Jonny cuts himself off, choking on all the words he doesn’t say, unable to stand looking at Sharpy for another second, unable to keep talking, his chest is so tight, his throat feeling swollen and raspy, like he’s swallowing glass shards. “Tell him, I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for. That Patrick had to see it? That it happens? Happened? Will happen? That Jonny failed to save him? That Jonny kept trying to convince Patrick that the travelling wasn’t a curse when it kills him in the end?

“What happened, Jonny?” Sharpy says, voice sounding somewhere between freaked out and confused, but at the same time soft, like he’s talking to a spooked animal. Jonny senses it more than anything, Sharpy reaching out for his shoulder, and flinches away, turning around in the process, finding Sharpy’s eyes on him. “What the hell is going on, man? You are scaring me.”

Jonny exhales deeply, closing his eyes. “Take whatever you think is Patrick’s, then let yourself out. I don’t care. Have a nice summer, Sharpy. Tell Abby I said hi.” He turns around then, walking to his bedroom and shutting the door behind himself.

Sharpy doesn’t follow him and Jonny is grateful for it. He doesn’t cry, just lies motionlessly on his bed, while he listens to Sharpy rummaging through the condo and then finally, finally silence. It’s the first night that Jonny sleeps in his bed and not on the kitchen floor. It’s a fitful sleep, full of images of red and the sound of rattling breathing and in the end Jonny gives up on it and gets up, gets his bag and gets into his car.

It’s an almost 14 hour drive back to Winnipeg, but Jonny can’t stand staying in his condo for another second. He knows he’ll eventually have to deal with things, call some people, get the hardwood floor replaced, probably get a new carpet too since the backside of it might be affected by the bleach. He’ll have to figure out how to apologize to Sharpy too. He’ll have to come up with some sort of explanation, but right now he can’t deal with any of it. What he can do is drive. So Jonny drives.

He sits in silence, doesn’t dare to turn on the radio because it reminds him too much of the last time he drove through Wisconsin with Patrick on his passenger seat, constantly fiddling with the radio, complaining about Jonny’s music taste and proudly defending his own. Things had seemed so simple then, just driving, seeing a lighthouse, making Patrick smile, cheering him up. Now Jonny doesn’t even know how to cheer himself up, let alone Patrick who’s shunning him once again, and Jonny hates it with very fiber of his being, the whole fucked up-ness that is apparently his life, the fate that is awaiting Patrick. He hates feeling so helpless and guilty and so tremendously sad. He hates his car, he hates the silence and he hates Patrick for ignoring him. He hates future Patrick for not travelling here to be there for Jonny, when Jonny needs him so much. He hates him for never telling Jonny the truth. He wants to scream, but he can’t, like saying it all out loud might make it true, make what happened that day in the kitchen even more real. So Jonny locks it up, presses his lips shut and swallows the words down, again and again until he feels like he’s going to throw up.

He doesn’t. He keeps driving.

It’s all flickering through his head like echoes now, Patrick looking so sad sometimes, telling Jonny how he’s thankful for every extra moment with Jonny, how there’s never enough time. He remembers Patrick telling Jonny he’d love him till the day he dies, knowing very well how soon that day would come.

 

***

 

**_ Summer 2009, Jonny is 21 and Patrick is 21 _ **

“Jonathan,” his mother says when he walks in through the front door. “I didn’t know you’d be arriving today. We would have picked you up from the airport.” She’s wearing a smile but one look at his face has it replaced by a concerned expression. “Sweetie, are you alright? Did something happen?”

“I drove,” he says weakly. His hands feel numb and so do his legs and he’s honestly not sure how he’s made it the last 150 miles alive, given the fact that he barely remembers driving them.

“From Chicago?” she asks, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Jonathan, that is not-”

“Maman,” Jonny cuts her off, shaking his head. He’s not- He doesn’t- He can’t deal with her being soft and affectionate right now, not when he can’t tell her what is wrong anyway, can’t tell her what happened. He can’t even tell her why he decided to drive over 860 miles instead of taking a 2 hour flight, because he doesn’t know himself. “Don’t, please. Just-”

She must see something on his face, because suddenly she looks sad too, sad and knowing. “Oh, come here,” she says softly pulling him into a hug, that Jonny doesn’t return, just stands there, blinking the tears away furiously. The last time he spoke to her, he told her ‘maybe’. Patrick had been lying on the couch, sleeping soundly, and Jonny had thought- He’d hoped-

“It’s alright, baby,” his mother says, “It’s going to be alright.”

But how can she say that, how can she promise that? She doesn’t know and if she did she wouldn’t say something so stupid, because nothing is alright. Nothing has ever been alright, not from that first visit 16 years ago on. That Patrick had known. He had known when he told Jonny they’d be best friends that he would die. He had known he would die in Jonny’s arms, on Jonny’s kitchen floor. He’d known and so had every Patrick except one. And that one is ignoring Jonny now, off somewhere in Buffalo dealing with his own pain in whatever way this Patrick Kane deals with shit. Probbaly getting drunk, fucking some girls, whatever.

“No, maman,” he whispers, pressing his eyes shut because he’s afraid if he doesn’t he might start crying for real. “It’s not- It’s not alright.”

“But it will be, darling.” She pulls back a little, gently caressing his cheek. “I know it hurts right now but it will pass.”

“How?” Jonny whispers, he can’t imagine this pain in his chest ever going away. It already feels like a part of him, ugly roots bored deep into his lungs and gut.

“You are brave, baby. So brave.” She kisses his cheek. “You put yourself out there and sometimes those things go wrong, but you were brave to try. You loved and you lost but-”

“No, maman, it’s not like that. I-” She thinks it’s about Patrick and Jonny’s feeling for him that he admitted to her over the phone. She thinks he confessed, she thinks it went badly, she thinks he’s heart broken and he is but it’s not because-

She ignores him, only smiles softly, sympathetically. “ _It will pass_. It may feel like the end of the world right now, but it won’t be forever.”

_It won’t be forever._

A part of Jonny wants to laugh, the crazy, fucked up part that made him spent nights on his kitchen floor thinking about the blood stains underneath.

_It won’t be forever._

How often has he spoken –thought- those words himself. When TJ had felt sorry for Jonny, for him being lonely, Jonny had told him it was alright because it wouldn’t be forever. Whenever Jonny had been sad about Patrick not loving him back yet he’d told himself it was alright because it wouldn’t be forever.

But he’d been wrong.

Patrick was always going to die and Jonny was always going to spend the rest of his life without him.

Alone after all.

“You’ll fall in love again, darling. You’ll find someone and he or she will love you back like you need it. Like you deserve,” his mother continues and it’s all Jonny can do not to shake his head and tell her that he won’t because Patrick is it for him, has always been it and Jonny doesn’t know how to love anyone but him. He doesn’t know how he’s ever supposed to stop, even when Patrick is gone and Jonny’s got a whole life without him ahead of him. He doesn’t know how he’s ever supposed to love anyone in a way that even remotely compares to Patrick. He doesn’t think he can.

“It’s not like that,” Jonny whispers, but she just hugs him again, tighter this time and it almost feels like she could hold the pieces together. “It’s not like that.”

She leaves him be for the rest of the day, doesn’t make him come downstairs for dinner, just knocks and lets him know she’ll put some in the fridge for him. Jonny thanks her but doesn’t leave his room for the rest of the day or the next morning. It’s on his third day back home after yet another day of radio silence form Patrick that Jonny forces himself to start functioning again. It’s easy, he’s a hockey player. If he knows something than it’s the comfort of routines. He just needs a routine.

Get up, shower, eat, work out, check for reply from Patrick, nap, eat, work out, shower, dinner, check again, sleep, repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

It’s easy, simple, following steps, it makes him feel like he’s in control, like he doesn’t have to think, at least until he’s lying in bed at night with nothing but the beating of his own heart to keep him company when all the anger and hurt and desperation comes rushing in, fierce and angry from being held out all day. He feels it choking up his lungs until it’s hard to breathe, until he can do nothing but heave for air on his hands and knees, desperately trying to force air into his lungs. All in all it’s a good system though.

It’s a good system and Jonny’s family lets him get away with it for almost a week until his mother ‘forces’ him and David to go on a fishing trip together, practically shoving them into the truck and releasing the hand brake for them.

“You good, man?” David asks later when they are sitting in the boat out on the lake, both their fishing lines out.

“Yeah,” Jonny answers, maybe a little too quickly.

David shrugs. “Maman is worried. You’ve been acting weird.”

“And you are what? My designated therapist?” Jonny says cooly. “Sorry to tell you but your services aren’t needed. I’m fine.”

Maybe it will start feeling true if he only repeats it often enough.

“Whatever.” David takes a beer out of the cooler, taking a sip. “Beer?”He shoves one in Jonny’s lap without waiting for an answer. “Thought it might have something to do with your secret guy? The one you mentioned last year? Or is that no longer-” he gestures vaguely.

“It’s still complicated,” Jonny says, popping his beer can open, but hesitating to bring it to his mouth. “More, actually.”

“Mh,” is all David replies and they spend the next few hours in silence, but the thought stays with Jonny. A year ago he spend the day with future Patrick and after he’d disappeared Jonny had moped around like a sad sack for days until even his brother had tried to talk with him and now? Now Patrick is fucking dead –or he will be dead- and Jonny feels so ridiculous. A few months without Patrick, a sudden disappearance, a too short visit, it feels so trivial, insignificant, to be angry or sad about something like that, it makes Jonny feel stupid and at the same time –in some fucked up dichotomy- they feel even more grave now. Every month without Patrick is a month they won’t get back, it’s a month less that Jonny gets to spend with Patrick because Patrick doesn’t have that many months. Of course Jonny knows that technically anybody could die at any moment, Jonny’s mom could get run over by a car tomorrow for all he knows, but it’s different because with Patrick he knows, with Patrick he had a promise of forever, the idea of forever, of a future, and now it’s all gone.

And if you think about it, fifteen years isn’t that long. And that’s the time they got left. Fifteen years and Patrick will be 35. Fifteen short years and Jonny is sitting in a fucking boat with his brother, drinking beer in silence when all he wants is Patrick.

“Shit, bro,” David says suddenly and Jonny’s eyes snap up finding his brother’s eyes through a layer of tears clouding his vision.

It’s then that he realizes he’s started crying.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with his sleeves, trying to turn away so David doesn’t see. But it’s a futile attempt, David’s seen it already anyway

“Are you-” David begins but cuts himself off, looking away awkwardly. “Dude,” he begins again after a couple of minutes, when Jonny’s pulled himself together enough again to stare out at the lake with his vision only slightly blurry. “I don’t get it, what the hell could be so wrong in your life? You are living the fucking dream. You are captain, you make millions, you- I don’t get it, man.”

“What, you want it? Want my job, team, my C, my money?” Jonny wants to snap but it comes out more like a sad mumble. “Because you can have it. You can have it all, I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. Take it all.”

_If that changed anything._

Jonny would do it, he’d do it all, give it all up, if it meant keeping Patrick alive, keeping him from meeting his fate on Jonny’s kitchen floor. But there’s no deal to make, no bargain to negotiate. There’s nothing Jonny can do and maybe for the first time he truly understands what Patrick means when he says he doesn’t have a choice. There’s nothing Jonny can do, because it’s already happened. It’s prewritten, it’s set in stone, it’s already a part of his future and past and that thought alone is so fucked up, like he’s just now realizing that he’s on the bottom of the ocean with his feet stuck in cement.

He also knows that it’s a low blow, telling David that he doesn’t care about the luxuries and privileges he has in his life. He knows he’s being ungrateful. David would give anything to play in the NHL, it’s been his dream too and yet Jonny made it while David didn’t. The jealousy and rivalry isn’t so bad anymore but sometimes Jonny can still feel it in his brother’s gaze. Maybe Jonny had hoped to conjure it up with this remark, make it replace the pity in his eyes but David just shakes his head, turning away and popping open another beer.

A part of Jonny –and he’s not sure if it’s the crazy or not crazy part- feels disappointed, because maybe, if David would have pressed, maybe he would have-

That part of Jonny wants to talk, to Patrick, to anyone. He wants to be able to say it out loud, have it out there, spoken real, not just in his head with all its sharp edges. On his drive to Winnipeg, Jonny had felt the thought of speaking the words out loud as a suffocating weight. Now it’s the opposite. The silence is killing him. He just wants to talk but he can’t bring himself to do it, not like this, not on his own because it’s a secret, it’s private, it’s intimate, it’s Patrick dying and who is Jonny to tell anyone about that, especially not when it’s so inextricable linked with the original secret. So Jonny doesn’t say anything, not for the rest of the fishing trip or the following day.

He makes an effort to act normal, follow his routine, make small talk with his mom, watch football with his dad, avoid David. He tries. He really tries, all while being painfully aware of every text that goes unread, every email that stays unanswered. After the second week Jonny stops sending any. He just hopes that whatever Patrick is doing, that it helps, that he’s alright. Somehow. Someway.

Ironically it’s only a week later that he gets news from Patrick.

Or –technically- _about_ Patrick.

And Patrick isn’t alright.

On August 9th Patrick Kane and an unnamed cousin get arrested around 5 am for allegedly robbing and assaulting a cab driver in Buffalo.

David shoves his laptop in Jonny’s face after dinner that day, showing him the multiple articles already published on various sites. The sleazy ones as well as reputable ones, they all say the same. That it’s been about 20 fucking cents, about the driver not having any change and Patrick and his cousin apparently assaulting him over that.

So there Jonny has his answer. Patrick is not alright and whatever he’s been doing to deal with what he saw, what he knows will happen to him, it lead to him getting arrested and charged with second degree robbery, a class C felony, fourth degree criminal mischief and theft-of-services. The site says the lawyer already entered a not-guilty plea. The article goes on but Jonny doesn’t read it. He just hands David the laptop back, ignores the lump in his throat.

David is staring at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with that guy?” he asks after a couple of moments in which Jonny says nothing, just stares back.

_He’s dying,_ Jonny answers in his head. _He’s just found out that he’s dying. That’s wrong with him._

“We don’t know what really happened.” Is what he ends up saying, earning himself an incredulous look from his brother.

“Are you serious?”

Jonny grits his teeth. “We don’t.”

“He tell you something different? Because this shit looks pretty straight forward to me.”

Jonny looks away. The answer is no of course. Because Patrick hasn’t told Jonny anything for weeks. He might as well be a stranger. Jonny pulls out his phone and texts Erica.

_Is it true?_

She barely takes a minute to reply.

_Yes._

Jonny closes his eyes and focusses only on breathing for a moment, wondering if he should text Patrick too, if it would be any different from his other attempts. It’s only when he opens his eyes again, no step closer to a decision that he finds David still staring at him.

“He _assaulted_ someone, Jon.” He bites out. “And you call a guy like that your best friend. I get that there are assholes in hockey. There are assholes everywhere, but this-”

“Shut up.”

“Jon-”

“I said shut up.”

The awful thing that Jonny doesn’t want to admit is that David is right. Jonny reads those articles and if he didn’t know Patrick, if he didn’t love him, he’d be the first one to say how much he doesn’t want to be associated with the guy in that article, much less call him his friend and yet here Jonny is, feeling incredibly hypocritical because he knows he should be angry at Patrick, as his friend as his captain and co-worker, hell, as a human being and yet he’s mostly just sad. Sad for Patrick, for himself, for all this bullshit and everyone involved in it.

He wonders if he maybe should have tried harder, maybe he shouldn’t just have let Patrick fuck off to Buffalo, maybe he should have went after him. He knows that Patrick is a runner, future Patrick himself told him that, calling Jonny brave and a fighter in the same breath. But Jonny doesn’t feel brave right now and he doesn’t know who or what to fight. He also wonders if maybe none of it matters because Patrick is his own person and if he wants to act out and punch people he’s gonna do it, regardless of Jonny trying to call him a couple more times or not.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks quietly, after the silence stretches for too long with David just staring at him like he could figure it out by just looking at Jonny intensely enough.

David stares at him for a moment longer, then something like understanding dawns on his face. “Oh my god.” He takes a step back. The look of surprise is quickly replaced by anger and disgust. “Kane is your guy. He’s your ‘It’s complicated’-guy.”

Jonny stares at him. There’s a noise form the kitchen. When he turns around he finds their mother looking at them, at him. “Do yourself a favor,” Jonny says, turning back to David, “Don’t talk about shit you don’t understand.”

“Well,” David stares back. “That’s not a no.”

“Boys.” Their mother says firmly, but neither Jonny nor David turn to look at her.

“Leave it, David.”

“Yeah, right.” David snorts and for a second there Jonny thinks David may actually let it go, but then he turns back around, gets right up in Jonny’s face, staring up at him like Jonny personally offended him by not condemning Patrick on the spot. “No way, Jonny, what the fuck? I don’t pretend to get you on the best of days, but Kane’s a douche. You’ve said so yourself. He’s a drunk ass who thinks he can get away with it because happens to play good hockey and that’s it.”

“Don’t talk about Patrick like you know him.” Jonny has to force his voice down, fights the urge to yell, turning what wants to burst out of him into a threatening whisper. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I know enough. I’ve played with guys from Buffalo who knew him. I can only assume he’s a good lay because it sure as hell can’t be his shit ass personality.”

Jonny turns around, crossing the living room with a few long strides.

“Sure, yeah walk away!” He can hear David yelling after him “I’d too if I’d be getting it on with a fucking frat boy asshole and got called out on it.”

“I’m walking away because otherwise I’m gonna slam your face in this fucking table.” Jonny snaps, halting on the sport. He’s got his hands curled into fists and every part of him is itching to let it out, the frustration and anger and betrayal he feels. It might not be all David, probably not most of it, but the way he talks, like he _knows_ anything is making Jonny so mad. He wishes he could throw it in their faces, how amazing Patrick is, how many things there are that Jonny loves about him, that the party boy persona that he’s constructed isn’t all there is to Patrick Kane, but it’s all overshadowed by the one thing Jonny wants to scream about but can’t. Patrick saw himself dying and Jonny would like to see any of the assholes who run their mouths right now dealing with a trauma like that without stumbling over themselves.

David just raises his eyebrows at the threat, “Sure, you don’t want to try and go for a punch? Do it like lover boy.”

He’s younger than Jonny and shorter, but David’s always been a good fighter. He’s quick and cunning, a bit like Patrick when they wrestle and Jonny remembers countless of times he and David have roughed each other up when they were kids. It’s been a few years though since things have escalated between them.

Jonny feels his knuckles turning white. David widens his stance, clenching his jaw.

“David, Jonathan, that’s enough!” Their mother steps between them, giving them each a disapproving and stern look.

David and Jonny stare at each other for a couple more seconds over their mother’s head and somehow there’s something else then in David’s eyes. Something Jonny can’t quite put his finger on.

“You know we’ve had out differences but I’ve always respected you,” he says almost too quietly. “You used to say: be a good person first, a good hockey player second. When did that change? Because Kane’s not-”

Jonny doesn’t stay to listen, he just turns around, walking away like he should have before David said the first word. He doesn’t bother to close the patio door being himself, doesn’t bother to answer his father’s question or his mother’s call, just keeps walking through the garden into the woods.

He hasn’t been back in the woods since he came home, there’d been no call from Patrick and Jonny had been too busy with keeping himself busy, following his routine, but now that he’s walking he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop.

 He starts running when it starts raining. He’s soaked to the bone before he makes it to the tree, the tree with the box. It’s pouring, the clouds breaking open with summer rain. When it thunders, Jonny starts screaming. He screams as loud as he can, screams because it hurts, because he can’t say it, can’t say anything, but he can scream, scream himself raw, while the rain patters down on him. He screams and he almost doesn’t feel the pain when he punches his fist against the tree trunk him and Patrick carved their initials in, half a life time ago, until his knuckles are bleeding. He screams because Patrick isn’t here, and why is Patrick not here? Why isn’t he here when Jonny needs him so much, because he’s the only one that understands, the only one that Jonny could truly tell, that he could yell at, scream at. But he’s not here, the woods are empty except for Jonny and his screaming and the rain. He’s not here and Jonny hates him for it. He hates him for everything. For dying, for lying, for letting Jonny love him, for making Jonny believe in a happily ever after when he’d known about the fucking tragedy that is apparently their life all along.

He hates him and he screams that into the woods until he can’t anymore, until his chest is hurting with every wrecked sob and his throat won’t cooperate any longer. Until the rain stops, quickly and suddenly like it had begun, sun breaking through the clouds like its mocking Jonny and his break-down. It dresses the world in a shiny wet shimmer of sated colors and it takes only moments until the sky is clear and wide and blue and Jonny decides to hate that too. He wants a storm to match his pain.

“He didn’t mean it, sweetheart,” his mother says when he returns to the house, handing him a towel, concern written all over her face.

“Yes he did.”

“We just wish you’d let us help you. Tell us what is going on, so we can-”

“I can’t, maman.” Jonny shakes his head. “Please don’t ask me to.”

He’s lost count of the reasons why he can’t. Because it’s a secret. Patrick’s a secret. His travelling is a secret. Their love is a secret. Patrick dying is a secret. Everything’s a secret and Jonny knows it’s been a long time ago that things have gotten so tangled up, but only now it feels choking. It’s a secret because Jonny still feels like there’s blood on his hands and he can’t scrub it off no matter how hot the water is.

Sometimes Jonny presses his hands to the white tiles in his showers and wonders why there are no red handprints left behind when Jonny can still see it on his palms.

That’s a secret too, because it makes Jonny feel crazy.

“We worry. _I_ worry.” She says.

“Maybe I just need to get out of here for a while,” Jonny mumbles, shying away from her trying to hug him. “Maybe I just-”

He doesn’t know what a change of location could do for him. It’s not being here that hurts, it’s _being_ in itself and he can’t run away from that. But still. The thought has settled in his mind and suddenly Jonny desperately urgently wants to leave, he wants to get away.

“Honey, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to fly to Buffalo right now.”

“I wasn’t-” Jonny looks away, fumbling with his phone. He’s glad he left it on the table before storming out. Otherwise it might be ruined by the rain. “I have other friends too, you know.” He adds weakly. He wasn’t going to fly to Buffalo. Patrick doesn’t want him there or he would have called by now. He would have told Jonny, would have talked to him, would have-

Patrick doesn’t want Jonny in Buffalo, so Jonny isn’t going to go to Buffalo but he can’t stay here either, not when David is spitting poison and his mom is worrying day and night because Jonny can’t get his shit together.

 “TJ.” He stares at his phone, thumbing open the irregular message thread he’d maintained with TJ throughout the last season. “I could...”

His mother raises her eyebrows. “TJ? The boy you got arrested with? Jonathan-”

“ _Maman_. That was- I was in college.”

She holds up her hands, but doesn’t look happy. “I trust you. If you think you need to do this, go ahead. But I don’t want the next ‘scandal’ to be about my son. You hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you.” Jonny gives her a tight smile and presses the call button.

“Bro!” TJ answers after a couple of rings. “Long time no see. Or hear, which is more accurate here. What’s up, dear friend? Or should I say ‘Captain Serious’?”

Jonny’s got the feeling that ‘ _Just having the crisis of my life, what about you?’_ might not be the best conversation opener, especially since his mom is still hovering closely. So he says, “Not much.” Instead, before clearing his throat. “You in Washington? Mount Vernon?”

“Yup. Home sweet home.”

“You free for some company?”

“I can be,” TJ answers immediately, “You want to come down?” It’s been awhile since they’ve spent time with each other due to multiple reasons. The Hawks had played the Blues about six times over the last season and they hadn’t always been able to hang out afterwards, their schedules just too hectic and different. That and Patrick really not getting along with TJ, being cranky every time Jonny ditched him for TJ, but even more so when Jonny had suggested he’d come along.

But it’s not like Jonny has to worry stepping on Patrick’s toes now.

“Thinking about taking the next flight,” he tells TJ who hums in response.

“Awesome, bro. I’ll refill my scotch stash.”

Jonny smiles weakly, shooting a glance at his mother. “… I might not be the cheeriest company at the moment.” He says honestly. He doesn’t want to disappoint TJ, make him think they’ll have some awesome bro-vacation when Jonny’s been screaming his lungs out because he didn’t know where to go with all the pain less than an hour ago.

“You never are and I still love you, you adorable loner,” TJ says affectionately. “I miss your death glare.”

“I’m sure I death glared you on the ice once or twice.”

“Not enough baby, not enough.” TJ laughs.

Jonny rolls his eyes, feeling the smile tug at his lips again. This time a little stronger. “Lauren gonna be there?”

TJ makes a weird noise but doesn’t elaborate, though Jonny doesn’t miss the slight change in his tone. “How about I tell you about Lauren when you tell me about what got you sounding so gloomy.”

“Deal.”

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, tell me what you think :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment. Feel free to ask questions :) I will answer unless it spoils things.
> 
> Also, thanks ot my amazing beta-reader Sail_On who I sucked into the vortex that is hockey by giving this fic to read, after keeping it hidden for month, only for it to then stay unread for some time longer, because I guess we are all procrastinators.
> 
> Warnings: 
> 
> -There will be sexual and romantic stuff happening between characters with quite big age gaps. there is no extreme underage, but underage nonetheless. Jonny has a crush on older Patricks from the age of 13 and as he gets older (15+) he starts to want to explore sex with Patrick who is at elast about 10 years odler most of the time.
> 
> -There is also rape that happens (not between Jonny and Patrick). Jonny gets coerced into having sex wiht a woman. He does not want it which makes it rape. Only the aftermath and preamble are being described, not the actual rape itself.
> 
> If you have read the book and wonder if certain plot points will be picked up in this fic, ask me, as I've offered in the notes at the beginning.


End file.
